Head Shy
by BullDemon
Summary: Always willing to lend a hand, MacGyver finds himself spread thin. Are the headaches he's experiencing just stress, or are they something more?
1. Chapter 1

A/N Greetings Folks. This story has been a long time coming -- literally and figuratively. It's been bouncing around in my skull for a couple of years now, and I finally decided to put on paper. Cyber paper. Whatever. It's longish, so I'm going to try posting it a little at a time and see how it goes. Feedback -- the good, the bad, and the ugly -- is welcomed and appreciated. Thanks to my beta team -- Bethy & Lisa. Without being shown my wordy ways or my fluent grammar mistakes, this story would never have left the depths of my hard drive.

As always, I don't own any of the characters or places seen on MacGyver. I just borrowed them for a while. I'll put them back when I'm done. I promise.

Bull Demon aka Bandersnatch

*****************

_A picturesque spring day had fallen over the lush valley and forest. The air was perfect; not too hot, nor too cold, and a light breeze kept the invigorating scent of pine filtering through the dense trees. A shallow brook gurgled and sputtered between its banks as it flowed lazily over polished stones and submerged logs. For anyone lucky enough to be out exploring, it would truly prove to be a memorable day._

_With a gentle nudge of his heels, MacGyver urged the large, gray mare he rode onward. She was a good horse: strong, intelligent, and kind. With a mixture of draft and racehorse blood, she could carry her rider over many miles of rugged terrain with ease. He was lucky to have her, and even luckier to have such a beautiful day to ride. _

_The pair traveled on at a leisurely pace for some time; the winding trail weaving in and out of the thickly foliated forest. During their moments out in the open, Mac marveled at the clear sky, the deep-sea blue unblemished by even a single fair-weather cloud. Off in the distance slept a small chain of mountains, their craggy faces glowing in the warm sunlight. It was the first good day of the season, and he intended to make full use of it. _

_As they approached the edge of the forest, Mac felt the mare's stride start to change, shifting from a relaxed, ground covering walk to a more energetic gait. Experience told her what was coming, and she was eager for a chance to stretch her long legs. The tree line abruptly broke into an expansive valley that bordered the base of the mountains. Here the land was flat and the footing good, the perfect place for an all out gallop._

_MacGyver smiled at his mount's anticipation. He knew the big gray loved to run, and wide-open spaces would have her dancing like a filly until he gave her permission. Adjusting his feet in the stirrups, he moved his right hand forward to slacken the reins and signal the excited horse to go. The mare's response was immediate, lurching forward with enough force to unseat her rider if he hadn't been prepared for such a sudden acceleration. _

_Mac's smile grew as they picked up speed, the scenery around them rapidly becoming a smear of greens, browns, and reds. The wind tangled his hair and whistled loudly in his ears as they flew across the open valley. The surging power beneath him was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, not even in the flashiest racecar or the fastest bike. With thundering hooves and short gasps of air, the mare was in her element. This was what true horsepower was all about. _

_The pair made short work of the valley traveling along at the mare's easy gallop, Mac asking her to pull up just as the mountain path came into view. Yielding to the gentle pressure on the reins, the big gray snorted with pleasure as she dropped from a gallop into a lope, a trot, and finally a brisk walk. Her breathing was hard, but not labored, and Mac knew she'd be ready to go again after a short rest. _

_"Good girl," he said, patting her sweaty shoulder. He let the reins slide through his long fingers, allowing the mare to stretch her neck out as much as she wanted. She clanked the bit playfully between her teeth and settled into a more relaxed pace. Sitting back in the saddle, MacGyver let his thoughts wander at random, content to let his four-legged partner lead the way for a while. Confident and trusting, the mare escorted her rider through the remainder of the valley and onto the narrow path that would take them up into the great mountains. Mac picked up the reins when the plush footing of the meadows turned to stone. The big gray was sure-footed enough to make it on her own, but he wanted to be ready to offer his guidance should she ask for it. _

_The seldom-traveled mountain trail dipped and wove between large boulders and heavily gnarled shrubs. Mac enjoyed exploring the rugged beauty of the mountains the most. It was a different world up here, climbing around on the backs of sleeping stone giants. The air was cooler and tainted with a sense of unpredictability. One never knew what they would find around the next turn or behind the next stony outcropping. It was this mystique that kept drawing him back, keeping him young and recharging his passion for life._

_Not long after passing through a rather steep and narrow passage, the ground leveled and rocks parted to reveal a secluded pocket of bushy trees. Picking her way deliberately along the stony ground, the mare stopped when she came to a wide, shallow stream flowing across their path. She lowered her long neck and tentatively sniffed the water before submerging her lips for a long drink. Mac sat back and allowed her to have her fill, listening to the soft slurping sounds coming from the large beast below._

_The large gray had been only been drinking for a short time when a rustling in the nearby scrub caught her attention. She lifted her head and cocked her ears in the direction of the sound, water dripping from the corners of her mouth. Surprised by the normally calm mare's behavior, MacGyver shortened the reins and took hold of the saddle horn with his free hand. When the bushes rustled again, the startled horse snorted and suspiciously stepped back._

_"Easy," Mac uttered, stroking the mare's tense neck in an effort to calm her down. Her body had gone ridged, and he could feel her heart thundering against his leg where it rested at her side. She was poised to spring, terrified by whatever was lurking in the scrub. He gave her flank a nudge with his heels. "Come on, let's go," he urged, hoping to snap her out of her trance. Ignoring her rider, the big mare stood her ground and stared into the bushes. _

_He booted her sides a little firmer, getting the barest of ear flickers in response. He was about to try again when movement up ahead caught his eye. Frozen in the saddle, Mac held his breath as a very large, muscular buck forced its way through the tangle of shrubbery and into the clearing. Easily weighing in at over 200 pounds and sporting a massive rack of antlers, he was a formidable creature to come across. Stomping his foot and snorting, the deer's piercing black eyes seemed challenge the intruding horse and rider. _

_MacGyver couldn't believe what he was seeing. Deer weren't known to confront horses, typically preferring to run the other way than cross paths with the large, strange smelling beasts. The antlers bothered him too. Bucks were supposed to shed them after their breeding season was over. For some reason this guy still had his, and by the way he kept lowering his head, he knew how to use them. Mac jiggled the reins to get his mare's attention, hopeful the buck would leave them alone once he saw them leaving his territory. "Let's go, girl," he said quietly, preparing to turn her around and head back down the mountain. _

_The moment he took his eyes off the large deer he knew he'd made a mistake. A high-pitched snort was the only warning he got as the buck lowered his head and charged. Panicked, the mare wheeled around and bolted for the trees, her abrupt motion throwing her rider forcefully from the saddle. With no time to recover his balance, MacGyver fell, the sound of his head striking the rocky ground chasing him down into darkness._


	2. Chapter 2

MacGyver shot upright with a start, his heart hammering wildly against his chest. Slowly the vivid images of the mountain began to melt away, leaving him surrounded by the relative darkness of his bedroom. It had been a dream. The mare, their exhilarating run through the valley, the crazed deer, his fall. It had all just been a wild dream.

All except the pain in his head, anyway.

He fell back against the pillows with a groan.

_Not again…_ he thought, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. His body was still reeling from the dream, the fall from the horse playing over and over in his mind. The whole experience just seemed too real to have been the product of a tired, overstressed mind. But he knew it was.

When the pain failed to diminish, MacGyver untangled his legs from the bed covers and sat up. The room started to slowly spin and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing against the nausea that gripped his stomach. He'd been having the headaches for a while now, but their intensity and accompanying side effects were fairly new. Blaming his symptoms on the increased stress at work, he was hopeful things would remedy themselves as the pressure eased.

_If I make it that far…_

He released a shaky sigh and hesitantly opened his eyes, relieved to find that the room had stopped spinning. On the nightstand, his clock read 11:23. Less than two hours had passed since he'd retired with a book -- even less since he'd fallen asleep.

Using the wall to steady himself, Mac stood and headed for the bathroom. He stopped just short of turning on the small room's main light, opting for the dimmer one over the sink instead. Squinting painfully in the sudden brightness, he turned on the cold water and let it run for a moment before filling his cupped hands and splashing it over his face. At first the icy liquid caused the pain in his skull to spike, but it quickly faded into a dull ache as the cold worked its magic.

Mac looked up at his reflection in the mirror. In the low light he looked like a ghost, his skin pale and drawn across his tired features. The dark circles beneath his eyes were becoming more prominent by the day, and it would soon look like he'd tangled with the wrong end of a hockey stick. He dried his face with the front of his shirt and opened the medicine cabinet. There wasn't much of an offering inside: just an odd assortment of bandages, jars of liniment, and a few stray bottles. He selected the one marked 'acetaminophen' and shook three tablets into his hand. Nothing he'd tried provided much relief, but he hoped it would take the edge off enough to allow him to sleep. He swallowed the pills with a mouthful of water straight from the faucet and shut off the light.

Back in his bedroom he paused to turn off the small TV, the Western he'd had on having finished, rewound, and ejected on its own. He took the tape from the VCR and slipped it back into its sleeve, the design on the front of the dust jacket catching his eye. Standing beneath a weathered ranch sign was the film's main character seated atop a large gray horse.

"Hullo, thar, ol' gal," Mac said in his best Southern drawl. He shook his head and tossed the tape on the bureau next to several others. "Oh yeah, I'm losing it."

The mattress springs creaked softly as he sat down on the edge of his bed and scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. He was dog-tired. These bouts of pain-caused insomnia were becoming far too common. He caught naps during the day when he could, but they were starting to leave him feeling more tired than refreshed. He was rapidly reaching his breaking point, and knew it wouldn't be long before his performance at work began to suffer. And as a troubleshooter for one of the nation's top independent watchdogs, a failure to see all the details could be costly.

MacGyver sighed and stretched out on his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, mentally pushing the ache in his head to the back of his mind. When sleep didn't come after a few minutes he rolled to his side, his hand brushing something hard on the bed next to him. It was the field guide he'd been reading when he first fell asleep. He picked the paperback up and absently leafed through it, stopping at the section he'd dog-eared. It was on identifying and casting wildlife tracks in plaster, an activity he had planned to do with a group of school kids in the following weeks. In the dim light he could just make out some of the larger illustrations, his eyes immediately drawn to a familiar figure staring up at him from the glossy paper.

"The buck," he muttered, recognizing the confident stance and wild rack of antlers. The only difference between this deer and the one he'd seen in his dream were the eyes. This deer's eyes were wide and gentle; the other's had been wild and angry. He still had no idea what his dream meant, but at least he knew where some of the imagery had come from.

Closing the book with a snap, Mac yawned widely. He was finally starting to feel tired and didn't want to spoil it. He grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed and hugged it to his chest. Pushing all thoughts of wild bucks, gray mares, and winding mountain trails from his mind, he settled into the comfort of his bed and slowly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

*

The early fall sun hung low on the horizon, seeming almost reluctant to begin its lazy climb into the misty blue sky. The air was heavy with unshed moisture, a damp blanket of smog and haze having wrapped itself around the entire city of Los Angeles. From within the fog, horns honked and voices escalated to shouts as the workweek began in earnest, the streets flooding with people and cars all vying to be in the same place at once.

Perched amongst the chaos was a building of odd proportions, looking more like a blocky work of art on a pedestal than an office complex. The Phoenix Foundation seemed to stand out in the fog like a beacon, its many glass windows reflecting the rising sun's brilliant rays. Although the building appeared quiet from the outside, inside it teemed with life as both employees and volunteers alike hurried about, working to catch up on all that was missed during the weekend.

High up on the eighth floor in Field Administrations, an elevator car signaled its arrival, opening its heavy doors with a sigh. Not waiting for the doors to open completely, the car's lone passenger exited into the lobby as soon as the gap was wide enough for his shoulders to fit through.

The floor's secretary looked up from her work and smiled when she recognized the handsome face. "Good morning, MacGyver."

"Morning, Helen. Is Pete around?"

"He's on the phone, but go ahead in," she said, lowering her voice. "I think he'd appreciate the interruption."

"Thanks." He flashed her a small smile and headed for the director's office; curious as to whom his friend could be taking to. As he approached the glass façade, he could see Peter Thornton tipped back in his chair with the phone pressed to one ear, a look of impatience and amusement on his face. He raised his hand to knock but had already been spotted, the other man waving him in.

"Yes…yes. That's right. We'll both be there…" Pete was saying as Mac quietly slipped into the spacious office and sank down on the couch.

"Really? Well, that's good to hear! I'll be sure to tell him about…" As the person on the other end of the line interrupted him, Pete shook his head and momentarily held the phone out to the side, the high-pitched sound of a woman chattering away filling the room. "What was that now?"

Only half listening to the conversation, Mac rested his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, silently urging the dull ache that had settled behind his right temple to go away.

"Right – dinner starts at 6:30 and the presentation at 8:00. We'll be there. Ah huh – you too. Take care now. Goodbye."

Mac straightened up when he heard the phone meet its base with a sharp click. "Trouble?"

"No. Well -- I guess it all depends on your definition of trouble," Pete replied. "That was Lori Miller calling to remind us about the awards banquet out at the school tomorrow night."

"I thought you confirmed everything last Friday?"

"I did. Twice. And once over the weekend too." Pete chuckled and shook his head. "I guess she's really looking forward to the donation the Foundation is presenting to the school."

"She certainly has a reason to be," the troubleshooter agreed. "She's been running that disabilities outreach program for almost 4 years now with hardly any funding. Hopefully this'll help her get some new equipment she needs."

"Lori also mentioned that the pond you've been working on is flourishing. Apparently they had a late bunch of frog eggs hatch overnight. She can't wait to show the kids."

"That's great."

Pete shuffled a few stacks of paper around on his desk. "So, how are things with you? Between my meetings and your projects, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. Have a good weekend?"

"It was all right. Spent most of Saturday out at the school, but I didn't get a whole lot done. Had trouble getting motivated, I guess."

"Really? I thought you looked a little tired," he replied, having noticed the dark patches beneath his friend's eyes.

"Yeah, well, less than three hours of sleep will do that to you," Mac muttered, idly tracing the faded design on the upholstery with his finger.

"Rough night?"

"Sort of." His aching head had woken him just after two and he'd been awake with it since.

"You had another headache, didn't you?" Pete asked, sitting forward in his chair.

The troubleshooter gave a noncommittal shrug.

Pete took the deliberate silence as a yes. "And you still haven't seen someone about it?"

"Nope."

"How come?" They'd had the same conversation several weeks before, and knowing MacGyver as well as he did, Pete was certain the answer would be the same.

"Because I'm just tired."

"But you've been saying for the past six weeks. Come on, MacGyver, when's enough going to be enough?" Pete pushed, genuinely concerned for his friend. "There's obviously something going on because you're not yourself. Your color's off, you've been overly quiet, you don't have your usual energy… And I'm not the only one who's noticed. Several people have asked me if you were all right."

Mac looked up from picking at his calloused palm. He knew his fellow coworkers cared and meant well, but he didn't want to become a hot topic at the water cooler either. _Am I that obvious? _

"I just…" He sighed and pinched the bridge of nose, an action that was becoming more of a habit than relief for his aching head. "I need a break. Things have been really busy around here, plus I've been helping Willis with the computer upgrade and Lori out at the school on weekends… I think it's all finally starting to catch up with me."

Pete frowned, realizing how true his words were. Having been caught up in the preparations for the upcoming budget negotiations himself, Mac was left with more than his fair share of work on top of his voluntary time at the school. It was no wonder the man felt and looked the way he did.

"After the banquet tomorrow night, the books are clear of any major projects for the next few weeks. Why don't you take some time for yourself?" he offered. "Go camping or fishing – I'll even fly you half way around the world to go skiing if you want to. Just go -- get away from things for a while."

Although tempted, Mac shook is head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I promised Willis I'd help him finish the computer upgrade."

"I thought you two finished that project weeks ago?"

"Only half of it -- the parts were on back order. We had enough to upgrade the integral computers, but the rest had to wait. The materials came in over the weekend, and with the recent hacker scare, Willis wants to get it installed and tested as soon as possible. I spoke with him this morning and it looks like we're aiming for Wednesday."

"Wednesday? Willis has plenty time to find someone else to help him before then."

"I promised I'd help him finish," Mac replied with a sigh. "Besides, it should only take a day…unless we run into a snag."

"Well, if you think you're up to it. Just do me a favor and don't over do it, okay?"

"Yes, Pete," Mac said, smiling at his friend's mothering. "Whatcha got for today?"

"Not much, believe it or not. I'm due to have lunch with some of the other Foundation directors and there are just a few odd things that need to be done. An easy day, really."

"What's first?"

"Well, there's the…" Pete stopped and carefully eyed the young man across the room from him, taking in his tired, almost haggard appearance. He closed his planner and selected a folder from the sorting tray on his desk. "I have a better idea. Drop this file off at the front desk and than take the rest of the day off for yourself."

Mac looked startled. "What?"

"In fact, take tomorrow too. I want you to be good and rested for that banquet tomorrow night."

"But, Pete, there's stuff to be…"

"Ah!" Pete lifted a finger to cut him off. "Your boss is telling you to go home and get some rest. So just say 'thank you' and go. We'll be just fine here. Trust me."

He opened his mouth to protest further, but thought better of it when he saw the expression on Pete's face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now go get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow night."

MacGyver stood and collected the folder that needed delivering. "Dinner's at 6:30, right?"

"Yeah. Listen, why don't I have my driver swing by your place about 5:00 and we'll ride out together?" Pete offered.

"Sounds good."

"Great. Wear something nice; it's a formal gathering. And I couldn't talk you into a haircut, could I?" he asked.

Mac grinned and shook his head. "Nice try, Pete."


	3. Chapter 3

"…_Calling himself the "Hack-a-Mattack" Hacker." Over the past several weeks, this unknown individual has caused substantial loss of business for dozens of local companies by infiltrating their computer systems and corrupting data storage. A call for police action has be raised by the public, however law enforcement agencies are finding themselves unprepared to deal with this new wave of "cyber criminals"…"_

Having heard enough, MacGyver stopped fiddling with his tie and snapped off the TV. As tempting as it was, he was glad he hadn't taken Pete up on the offer of vacation so soon. This 'Hack-a-Mattack Hacker' was quickly building speed, and putting off the computer upgrades at the Foundation could prove disastrous.

He had spoken with Willis several hours before to get the latest details on the upcoming job, and make arrangements for the following day. There were still several dozen computers that needed upgrading and than the entire system needed to be tested. If it worked, the experimental program would help protect the Foundation's cache of databanks and secure accounts from the latest outbreak of hackers and information thieves. Willis had asked for MacGyver's help personally, insisting that if anyone could find a system's weakness, it would be him.

"And _then_ I can go on vacation…" he sighed, dropping back against the couch cushions and shutting his eyes. His head hurt, the dull ache he'd woken with that morning was on its way to becoming a full-blown migraine. The aspirin and hot shower he'd taken had done little to improve how he felt, and if anything had accentuated how worn out he really was. All he wanted to do was climb back into bed and forget about formal banquets and computer upgrades.

A loud rap at the door startled MacGyver from his thoughts. Shaking the haze from his mind, he stood and went to the door, not surprised to see who was waiting on the other side.

"Hey, Pete. Come on in," he greeted, stepping back to allow his tuxedo clad friend in. "I'm almost ready to go."

"Take your time. I'm a little early," Pete said, taking a seat at the small kitchen island. "So, how are you feeling? Any better than yesterday?"

Mac shrugged as he worked to tuck in the tails of his dress shirt. "I got some sleep, if that's what you mean."

"How about your head?"

"Last I knew it was still between my shoulders."

Pete smiled. "That it is." He watched as Mac pulled on his gray vest, noting the lack of color in his face. "You sure you feel up to going tonight?"

"Yep." He fastened the vest's buttons and gave it a sharp tug to smooth out the wrinkles. "No nail in the head is going to keep me from missing out on a stuffy auditorium full of overdressed people."

"You can sit this one out if you want. Lori will be disappointed, but she'll just…"

"Pete, I'm fine," Mac insisted, hoping this wasn't how the whole evening was going to go. "And the sooner we can get this over with, the better." He wandered over to the small storage area by the stairs and began wading around in knee-deep piles of hockey gear.

The older man spotted the bottle of aspirin on the counter. "Any chance you've given more thought to seeing someone about your headaches?" he asked, picking it up and shaking it.

"Nope," he replied simply, finally spotting his dress shoes beneath a well-dented helmet.

"What about someone at Phoenix? Like Ferris Harper."

"We've been over this be…"

"You know her, right?" the older man pushed.

"I know she works at the University Hospital and is doing some sort of research project with the Foundation. Other than that…"

"She's the neurologist in charge of a large research project being conducted by the Foundation and the University Hospital here in LA. They've got several different studies going on at once, but Ferris is most involved in the one dealing with the causes and treatments of migraines."

"Pete, I really don't…"

"Just hear me out," Pete insisted, pretending he didn't see his friend buffing his shoes with an old jersey he'd found on the floor. "I've been working closely with Ferris for a few weeks now getting the financial needs of the project down on paper for the budget meetings. She's a wonderful young woman – very smart, caring, and devoted to her work. She said she'd be more than willing to take a look at you and see what she could offer."

Mac stopped mid-polish. "Wait -- You told her about me?"

"Well not you specifically. I said I had a friend who was having some trouble with bad headaches," he said, continuing quickly when he saw doubt creep onto the younger man's face. "Just think about it, MacGyver. That's all I ask."

"Is that all I have to do to get you to drop this?"

Pete folded his arms across his chest and waited expectantly.

The troubleshooter held his gaze for a moment before sighing loudly. "Fine. I will _think_ about taking Dr. Harper up on her offer," he conceded at last, feeling that his emphasis on the 'think' part fell on deaf ears.

"Good." A satisfied smile touched Pete's lips. "Now that that's out of the way, shall we go?"

Still wearing a frown, MacGyver tossed aside the blackened jersey and stood to get his coat. "You ready for the budget meeting tomorrow?"

"I think so. We have all our numbers in order and everything's looking good," he replied, as they made their way to the front door. "Rumor has it that The Powers That Be are going to be a little more stringent with the funds than they have in the past. I'm just hoping they'll at least give us our minimum requests."

"Me too," Mac agreed, switching off the lights and opening the door. Pausing to lock up, he shivered slightly when an unseasonably cool sea breeze washed over him.

"It's going to be a nice night," Pete commented, looking up at the vibrant yellows, fuchsias, and oranges of the slowly setting sun.

As Mac turned to look at the beautiful Californian sunset, a fiery pain pierced through his skull. Barely able to conceal his grimace, he quickly retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on.

_No…_he thought, following his friend to the awaiting car. _It's going to be a long night. A very, very long night… _

*

The Hillenburg School sat on a sprawling 200-acre lot of fields and forest several miles past the LA city limits. The property belonged to Lori Hillenburg, a special education teacher who believed in the benefits of immersing her students in the natural world. While most of the land was dedicated to trails and animal habitats, she had kept a 20-acre parcel for her students to explore. The campus itself was old, consisting of a large renovated farmhouse and an abutting barn that had been turned into a gymnasium.

Lori, with the help of sponsors, brought the grounds up to code and opened as an alternative school for young children with disabilities. For the first few years, the school enjoyed great success. The classes of 10 to 15 students flourished in the natural setting, and parents raved about the mental and physical improvements they saw in their children. But then the economy changed and the private funds dried up. It became harder and harder to keep the old buildings maintained and the programs running. Having been denied state help, Lori had been certain it would be the final year she could keep the school open. At least until she met MacGyver.

"I thought for sure I was going to have a heart attack when I saw him picking it up. I've never seen anyone act so nonchalant around those frightful things, let alone convince eleven young children to touch it! You'd never catch me doing that! I'm terrified of…"

MacGyver was only half listening as Lori exuberantly recounted the story of their meeting to the people at their table. He swore every time she retold the tale the harmless garter snake got a little larger and a whole lot meaner. It had been a chance encounter about 6 months before. He'd been out hiking on the property when he heard a small child crying. He followed the sound and came across one of Lori's students huddled against a tree, horrified of a snake that was sunbathing on the path.

"Poor Allie! She'd always been frightened of anything of the creepy crawly sort. But by the time I got back to her, MacGyver had managed to calm her down and even had her _touching_ it!"

The people at the table shared a murmur of approval and admiration.

"Can you believe it? It was like magic. The kids absolutely love him. And he's been helping me make improvements to the school ever since. The new ramps, the swings…" Lori paused and gave Mac a beaming smile. "He's the one responsible for that beautiful pond too."

There were more mutters of approval and even a few pats on the back.

"And now with the grant from the Phoenix Foundation, we can finally…"

Mac's attention shifted again. He was uncomfortable, and it wasn't just from the lavish praise or stuffiness of the gym. The nagging headache he'd had all day was slowly building into an awesome crescendo, the pain worsened by the loud noise and bright lights of the large room. Dark spots hovered in the corners of his vision and his stomach threatened to return what little of the catered meal he had eaten.

Laughing along with some of her guests, Lori stood up from the table. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go find out where our dessert is." As she left, the others seated at the head table began to converse quietly amongst themselves. It was a mixed crowd of people ranging from parents to private donators. The gathering was an annual event to publicly open the school and show off the program's success. It was usually a small affair, but the school's tenth anniversary and acceptance of the Foundation's grant were reasons to celebrate.

MacGyver hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes until he had to open them to see who was nudging his hand. "What?"

"You okay?" Pete asked from across the table.

The troubleshooter sighed and nodded, but the pain lines on his pale face said otherwise.

"Your head bothering you?"

"A little."

"Do you want to go?"

"No. I'm…" Mac's automatic reply ended abruptly when a member of the wait staff appeared and deposited a large wedge of strawberry cheesecake in front of him. Normally such a fine dessert would be a welcome sight, but in the wake of a blossoming migraine, just the sight of the rich cake was more than his already unsettled stomach could handle. He stood abruptly, the glasses and silverware clattering noisily on the table. "Excuse me," he uttered and quickly made his way out of the large room.

"Is everything all right?" Lori asked, returning just in time to see MacGyver's hasty exit.

Pete took the napkin from his lap and stood. "He's been feeling a little under the weather lately. I'll go check on him. Pardon me," he said, and hurried off to find his friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Pete pushed through the double doors at the back of the gymnasium and stepped into the hallway that connected it to the main building. Although the lights were dim, he could still make out a colorful assortment of the children's artwork dotting the walls.

"MacGyver? Are you there?" He spotted a yellow line of light leaking out from beneath a door and headed for it, his shoes squeaking softly on the freshly waxed floors.

The door turned out to be a bathroom. Pete knocked softly before opening it and poking his head inside. "Mac?" He found the younger man seated on the floor with his knees drawn up and his forehead resting on his arms. "Mac?"

With obvious reluctance, MacGyver looked up, squinting painfully against the room's harsh lighting. His face was still unusually pale, but it lacked the green tinge he'd had when he left the gym.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"You know me and crowds."

Pete had learned early on about his friend's aversion toward formal gatherings. They made him feel awkward and out of place, especially if he was required to wear the dreaded suit and tie. The younger man cleaned up surprisingly well, and such attire often elicited long, appreciative stares from the ladies in attendance. Although he handled himself well in these situations, Mac preferred to do his part of the pomp and circumstance from the safety and anonymity of the sidelines.

"I have a feeling there's something more going on here," Pete replied, kneeling down beside him. "Am I right?"

"I think the food was too rich. Plus the bright lights and the noise, my head…" He trailed off, a sheepish look crossing his face. "I'm sorry I ran out like that. I just didn't want to lose it in front of all those people."

"How's your head now?"

"Still hurts."

"You want to leave?"

Mac absently rubbed the aching spot behind his right temple. He'd wanted to leave since the moment they set foot in the loud, stuffy, and overly bright auditorium. The offer was tempting, but…"No -- I'll be all right. Besides, I promised Lori I'd be here. I doubt she'd let me go without a fight."

Pete smiled. Although he'd only dealt with Lori Hillenburg on the phone before the banquet, he had quickly learned that she was used to getting her way. Intelligent, confident, and loudly opinionated, the feisty middle-aged teacher knew exactly what she wanted for her students and refused to back down until she made it happen. It was this perseverance, along with MacGyver's recommendations, that earned her the $10,000 grant from the Foundation. It also made her a very hard person to say 'no' to.

He checked his watch. "Listen, there's still 20 minutes or so before the formalities start. Why don't you step outside for a bit? It might help clear your head."

"Worth a try, I guess," Mac agreed, not at all eager to return to the gymnasium. He grasped the hand Pete held out and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. "Thanks."

Pete made sure his friend had his balance before releasing the grip on his hand and opening the door. They stepped out into the darkened hall and headed for the back exit.

Mac stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed. "I suppose I owe Lori an explanation."

"I'll deal with Lori. I want you to just worry about yourself for right now."

When they reached the backdoor, MacGyver pushed on the bump bar to release the latch. Cool night air and the sound of crickets floated into the hall.

"You going to be okay alone?"

"Yeah, I think so," he replied, stepping out into the moonlit night. "I'll be back in a few."

Pete watched from the doorway as the shadowy form of his friend disappeared into the darkness. Despite Mac's reassurances that he was all right, he still couldn't shake his growing sense of concern. MacGyver was a stubborn man, and extremely protective of his independence. Pete had to trust that he was being honest about how he felt, and not sacrificing himself to keep others happy.

_He's a grown man. I'm sure he'll ask for help if he needs it…_ Pete thought, turning to make his way back to the auditorium. _But a little friendly persuasion never hurt anyone…_

*

MacGyver slowly made his way down the raked gravel path behind the school, enjoying the coolness of the night air. It was dark out on the back lot; the only light coming from the partial moon and flickering stars above. He stopped and gazed longingly up at the heavens. The school was far enough from the city that the bright lights had little effect on the night sky. He could just see the smudged, opaque arch of the Milky Way as it stretched from one horizon to the other. Such wondrous sights made him long for the days he'd spent as the caretaker for a local observatory.

_Simpler times…_

He drew in a deep breath of pine-tinged air and continued down the path, his shoes crunching on the fine stone. Pete's suggestion to step outside had been a good one, the fresh air making him feel almost human again.

He still felt embarrassed about leaving in such a rush. It was the second time in two months he'd had to excuse himself due to his head, the first being a preliminary budget meeting he'd attended with Pete.

_It's gotta be stress…_ Mac thought idly. _I've got too much on my plate. I need a break. _And if it didn't happen soon, he knew he'd be heading for burnout in a big way.

A dark patch in the middle of the trail pulled him from his thoughts. It looked like a grapefruit sized rock, probably misplaced by one of the kids earlier that day. He went to toe it off the path when it suddenly moved on its own. Startled, Mac watched it for a moment before realizing what it was.

"You look a little lost," he muttered, crouching down to pick up the small, blocky turtle. Feeling threatened, the creature pulled itself into its shell and studied him intently with glassy eyes. Mac smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not going to eat you. How 'bout a lift down to the water instead?" He turned off the path and began to cut across the field to the pond.

The pond project had turned out to be a fascinating and fulfilling project for both MacGyver and the students alike. Utilizing a natural spring, they designed, dug, and created a wetland habitat that looked like it had been there for years. As testament to their hard work, the pond began to flourish within weeks, attracting wildlife from all over the property. Birds, small mammals, and even deer visited the water to drink, while several varieties of fish, reptiles, and amphibians called the deep pool home.

"Here you go, little fella," Mac said, gently placing the shelled creature down at the pond's edge. Smelling the water, the turtle scrabbled across the soft sand and slipped soundlessly beneath the surface. "You're welcome."

He looked approvingly at the small piece of nature he helped create. It looked different at night, almost magical with the moon and stars reflecting off the surface. An occasional fish would jump at a fly, distorting the mirror-like image with rows of tiny ripples. Hidden somewhere in the reeds, a group of frogs croaked loudly, serenading potential mates with their baritone voices.

Mac glanced at his watch. It was almost eight o'clock – the reception would be starting soon. He reluctantly turned from the tranquility of the pond and began making his way back to the school.

He was about halfway there when a sharp pain flared across his skull, halting him in his tracks. Mac clutched his head and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to bring the intense pain under control. A powerful wave of dizziness struck, and he abruptly found himself on his knees in the tall grass.

_What's going on? _His vision started to gray and a cold sweat dampened his clothes. He considered calling for help, but between the sheer distance and noise in the gymnasium, he knew he would never be heard.

He was going to pass out, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fighting the inevitable for as long as he could, MacGyver felt himself falling backwards and than nothing at all. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

*

"MacGyver!"

"Mac!"

Two figures with flashlights came to a stop by one of the school's weathered picnic tables and looked around.

"Are you sure he's still out here, Peter?"

"He has to be," he replied, swinging his flashlight around in a wide arch, searching the darkness for his friend. "Mac!"

"Why don't you check the playground? I'll keep looking out here," Polly Andrews, the school nurse and Lori's preverbal right hand, suggested.

Pete headed off toward the front of the building as quickly as his dress shoes would allow. He was worried. MacGyver was missing. The younger man had failed to return in time for the start of the presentation. He didn't think much of it at first, assuming Mac had just lost track of time. But when he still hadn't shown up fifteen minutes later, he knew there was something wrong. Polly, who had been present when he'd been talking to Lori about Mac's abrupt exit, had graciously offered to help him search.

"Mac! Are you out here?" He stopped and listened, hearing only the lonely chirp of crickets. He sighed and moved on, panning his light across the wheelchair adapted swings and sand tables. It wasn't like MacGyver to be late – at least to something as important as this. He looked inside the child-sized log cabin, finding its only occupant to be a red play ball. "Come on, Mac, where are you?"

"Peter! Over here!"

He turned at Polly's shout and hurried back around the building, his feet slipping on the dewy grass. Using her light beam as a beacon, he made his way across the field to where the older woman knelt next to his friend.

"What happened?" he puffed, breathless from his impromptu burst of speed. "Is he all right?"

"He's unconscious," Polly replied, loosening Mac's tie and collar. "He's awfully cold. Give me your jacket."

Pete stripped it off without hesitation and helped wrap it around his still friend's form. "Mac? Can you hear me?"

Hearing a familiar voice, MacGyver groaned quietly, his eyes opening briefly.

"Come on, hon, you need to wake up," Polly urged, patting his cheek.

Mac groaned again, his eyes opening long enough to focus on the face in front of him. "Polly…" He slurred her name, his mind working in slow motion.

"That's right, Mac. Pete's here too. Do you remember what happened?"

"I went to…there was a moving rock…I let it go…the pond…turtle…frogandfish…" His words jumbled together as he faded out again.

Pete frowned. "Should we call someone for him?"

"I don't know yet," Polly said, taking Mac by the chin and shining her light above his head. "Can you open your eyes for me, hon?" She got a fleeting look at his deep brown eyes before he slammed them closed again and clapped a hand across his face. She smiled. "Well, your pupil response may be slow, but your reflexes are just fine."

"Do you think he's okay?"

"Let's give him a minute to wake up some more and see what happens." Polly began to rub his arms briskly to warm him up. It was obvious he'd been down for some time as ground's chill had transferred through his clothes.

MacGyver slowly began to come around, his awareness improving as his hazy mind cleared. He still had a headache, but it wasn't nearly as bad as before. It took a few minutes for him to realize he was still outside, the smell of fresh grass and pine heavy in the air. He was cold and stiff, signs that he'd been there for some time. As to _how_ he got there…

He sighed and moved his hand away from his face. Both Pete and Polly were kneeling beside him, watching with deeply concerned expressions. He met Pete's gaze first. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey to you," Pete replied, relief starting to replace some of the concern. "How're you feeling?"

"Kinda tired. A little chilly."

"Can you sit up?" Polly asked, knowing the sooner they could get him off the cold ground, the better.

"Sure." Still not completely with it, they had him sitting even before he could muster enough energy to help.

Pete repositioned his jacket around the younger man's shoulders. "So, what happened?"

"I don't know," Mac replied, wearily scrubbing a hand across his face. "I found a turtle on the path and took it down to the pond to let it go. My head starting hurting again and I got lightheaded on my way back to the gym, but after that…" He paused for a moment, drawing a blank. "Next thing I know, I hear you both calling my name."

"When you didn't show up for the start of the presentation, we came looking," Pete explained. "That's when we found you out here unconscious."

"Do you still feel dizzy?" Polly asked, continuing when he shook his head. "Think you can stand?"

"Yeah." Mac drew his legs up and stood with help, his two friends supporting him until he found his balance. He took a few experimental steps, his knees wobbling less each time.

"You good to go?" Pete inquired, a firm grip on his arm.

He nodded, already feeling better for being off the hard ground. "I think so."

With Mac setting the pace, the small group slowly made their way back toward the school. He still felt off, but he suspected it had to do with the after affects of his fainting spell. _What a mess this has turned out to be_…

"I have a place in my office you can lay down if you'd like," Polly offered as they made their way up the ramp at the back of the school.

"Nah, that's okay. I'm fine."

"Well I'm calling my driver then. He can take you home and than come back for me," Pete said

"No, Pete, I'm fine, really," Mac insisted, starting to feel like a broken record. They'd reached the back door and stopped. "I'd rather not get up on stage, though, if that's all right."

Polly nodded. "I think we can arrange that. Would you like a seat at the back in case you need to step out again?"

"Please."

"All right. Just give me a minute to make arrangements and then come on in when you're ready. I'll wait for you by the side door." She gave Mac's arm a small squeeze and disappeared into the school.

"She's a good person," Pete remarked, having noticed her fondness for the young troubleshooter.

MacGyver nodded, realizing for the first time he had his friend's jacket around his shoulders. He shrugged it off and handed it back before setting to work buttoning his collar and re-knotting his tie.

"I still don't know why you're making such a big deal about staying. If you don't feel well, they can't expect you to…"

"I made a promise to be here," he interrupted, not in the mood to justify his actions. "It's important, and it's something I want to do for Lori and the kids. Especially the kids." He stopped when he saw the scolded expression on Pete's face. _Way to make him 'feel the love,' Mac…_

He sighed and rubbed his aching forehead. "I'm sorry, Pete. I know you're concerned and I really, _really _appreciate it, but I'm all right. I'm just tired and a little overwhelmed right now. And I'm sure you are too with all that's going on at the Foundation. We just handle it differently."

"I know I've been nagging you a lot lately, and it's probably been too much. But I don't like to see the people I care about hurting, and whether you admit it or not, you _are_ hurting," Pete said frankly. "I just want you take care of yourself and not suffer for the sake of someone else. If you need a break, take it. Promises or not, if they truly know you for you, than they'll know you're not just blowing them off."

Mac looked down at his feet, his shoes damp from the grass. Pete was right, but he was a man of his word. Breaking a promise didn't come easy – even if it could be justified.

"You ready to do this?"

"Yeah," he said, opening the door. "And thanks."

"For what?"

"Caring. Listening. Everything."

Pete reached out and plucked a few blades of grass from MacGyver's sleeve. "You bet."

Mac smiled and motioned his boss through the door. Breathing in a final deep breath of the cool night air, he stepped into the building and headed for the gym. He had a promise to keep.


	5. Chapter 5

MacGyver fumbled his keys as he worked to open his front door. He was still half asleep, having dozed of during the long ride home. The presentation had run late thanks to several long-winded speakers. Being the last to present, Pete smartly chose to make the awarding of the Phoenix grant short and sweet, much to the relief of the audience.

Mac located his house key at last and slid it into the lock. His whole body felt numb and his movements were sluggish. All he wanted was shed his tuxedo, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed.

_The sooner this day ends, the better…_ he thought, pushing open the door and hitting the lights as he went.

Pete shambled in behind him. "You know, I'd still like to display this at the Foundation." He was holding a wooden plaque with a shiny brass plate on the front. Engraved on the inlay was a highly detailed depiction of the school's new pond with the words "Mac's Pond – Certified Wildlife Habitat and Living Classroom" printed beneath. Despite his request, MacGyver found himself herded up on stage to accept the award and Lori's lavish praise. The audience of proud parents and sponsors showed their appreciation as well, with a heartfelt standing ovation that seemed to go on forever. When it was finally over, he left the stage in complete shock, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"You can if you want," Mac replied, already stripping off the outer layers of his tux. "Maybe it'll keep those stuffed suits in charge of the budget from cutting our donation funds too much."

"You think they'll dock us there?"

He shrugged, callously dropping his jacket to the floor. "Discretionary accounts are easy targets. I guess it depends how they feel about charity work."

"I'm going to do everything I can to keep them away from it. They can make their cuts elsewhere – we've helped a lot of people with those funds." Pete looked at the clock on the counter. It was almost midnight. "Well, I suppose I should head out – tomorrow's a busy day. Are you sure you don't want me to stay tonight? I don't mind."

"Pete, the last time you slept on my couch, all I heard for the next week was how uncomfortable it was." MacGyver tossed his vest on the growing pile of clothes.

"You _could_ use a new couch."

Mac grinned. "I think I'm good for tonight. We can save the "couch of nails" torture for another day."

"All right – thought I'd ask." He turned for the door but stopped, the night's events still weighing heavy on his mind. "Just do me a favor and put some more thought into Ferris's offer, okay?"

"Pete…" Mac warned.

He held up his hands as if to surrender. "That's all I'm going to say," he said, and turned to leave in earnest.

The troubleshooter sighed and hurried to open the door for his friend. "Thanks for the ride and the other…stuff."

"No problem. You still coming in tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"Can you stop by my office before you get started just so I know you're all right?"

"I think I can manage that."

"Good. Now go get some rest – you look dead on your feet." Pete left, pausing to wave as he climbed into the backseat of the waiting car.

Mac waved back and waited until the car started moving before closing the front door and locking it. The houseboat fell silent, save for the muted tick of several clocks. He was glad to be alone, especially after such a hectic night.

He finished stripping down to his undershirt as he made his way to the fridge, kicking off his shoes as he went. He retrieved a carton of juice and took a few mouthfuls, the cold liquid making the dull ache in his head flare. Cringing, he wandered over to the center island and sat down with a grunt. He regarded the bottle of aspirin on the counter for a moment before shaking several of the bitter tablets into his hand.

_Maybe Pete's right. Maybe I should_ _take Dr Harper up on her offer…_

He swallowed the pills, but didn't anticipate much relief.

_Why bother? She's just going to tell you what you already know… _he thought, his cynical side coming through. _You're tired. You're overworked. You need a break -- a long, 'forget about the world' break. _

A clock on the other side of the room chimed midnight. It was a new day. He could put the events of the previous one behind him and move on.

MacGyver cracked a wide yawn as he stood. A shower could wait -- it was time for bed. He returned the carton of juice to the fridge and headed for the stairs.

"Ah!" he cried, a sharp pain shooting through his skull. Grabbing his head, Mac lowered himself to the bottom step and leaned against the railing. It was the same pain he'd out at the school, except now his ears were starting to ring. His vision blurred and he closed his eyes, the wobbly images causing his nausea and dizziness to worsen. All at once he wished he'd let Pete stay, realizing that being alone was the last thing he wanted.

_You need to lie down… _His inner voice said as his consciousness began to wane._ You need to lie down, but not here. The couch_… Mac groaned at the thought. His couch was only a few feet away, but at the moment it seemed like miles. He had no choice.

Mac hauled himself to his feet using the banister for balance. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, his distorted, warping vision making his stomach forcefully reject its contents.

"Oh, god…" he uttered, spitting and wiping his mouth on the front of his shirt. He sank to the floor, holding his head in one hand and his cramping belly with the other. It was tempting to stay put and let whatever was going to happen happen, but something within his subconscious wouldn't let him. Time seemed to slow as he half staggered, half crawled the short distance to the den. Disoriented in his own home, he located his couch almost completely by touch, his vision rapidly fading into a gray haze.

Out of breath and shaking with pain, MacGyver took a moment to gather up the last of his strength. With considerable effort, he barely managed to get himself onto the old sofa before collapsing against the cushions and blacking out.

*

"…I'm just rechecking some of the numbers…No, no, I'm confident they're correct, but I want to make sure I have them straight in my head." Pete shifted the phone from one ear to the other and reached for a pen. "Oh, last night? It went fine. We had a nice dinner and a great turnout. I think you'll be hearing a lot more about the strides the Hillenburg School is making in the near future."

He swiveled around in his chair and spotted MacGyver coming down the hall. Even at a distance, he could tell something wasn't right.

"Listen, Mark, I've got a few things left to do before zero hour…right…I'll see you there. Bye now." Pete hung up the phone just as his friend came through the door. "You look terrible," he said, troubled by the younger man's pale, pained appearance.

Mac dropped stiffly into one of the straight-backed chairs. "Morning to you too, Pete," he replied, his voice flat.

"Good morning, MacGyver – I'm sorry. You just…you don't look like you feel well."

"It was a late night," Mac said with a shrug. "I'm still kinda tired."

Pete began sorting through the seemingly random piles of paper on his desk. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I thought so."

He stopped mid-sort. "What do you mean?"

"I passed out on the couch shortly after you left and woke up about an hour ago under my coffee table."

"_Under _your coffee table?" Pete exclaimed. "Huh! That must have been some wave. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. A few bruises, but I'm fine." Mac absently rubbed his aching temple. "You all set for the meeting?"

Pete sighed and looked at the small forest worth of paper on his deck. "I think so. I just got off the phone with Mark Cooper – you've met him. He's the new assistant down in Environmental. Anyway, he seems fairly confident we'll get what we're asking for this year. Maybe even a little more."

Mac cocked an eyebrow. "More? This is his first budget meeting, isn't it?"

"It is," Pete replied with a chuckle. "Poor kid doesn't have a clue as to what he's in for. I just hope he doesn't have his heart set on anything just yet."

"Company politics, they'll either make or break you."

"That they will. So are you and Willis about ready to get started?"

"Yeah, he's just finishing up assigning computers to their software registry numbers," Mac explained. "With any luck, we should have the rest of the machines upgraded by the end of the day. Then all we have to do is test the system."

"Have you thought about seeing Ferris Harper by any chance?"

"Uh, a little, but…" Mac stammered, caught off guard by the sudden topic change. "I thought we agreed…"

"I agreed not to nag you about it insistently. And after last night's little incident, I had hoped you'd decided to take her up on the offer."

_Especially after it happened again…_ Mac thought, choosing not to mention it to his friend. "Last night was a…"

The phone rang, an interruption he was grateful for.

"Now what?" Pete muttered, putting the receiver to his ear. "Thornton. Hey, Willis. We were just talking about you. Yeah, he's here – sure, I can send him your way. He'll be right down."

"He ready?"

Pete hung up the phone. "Ready and eager."

"Great." Mac stood to leave. "If I don't see you before the meeting starts, good luck."

"MacGyver, I'm serious," Pete said, not about to let his friend off so easily. "I really want you to think about seeing Ferris."

He turned back to his boss, ready to assert himself for the umpteenth time when the familiar feelings of dizziness and pain began to cloud his senses.

_Not again…_ he thought, shutting his eyes to keep from seeing the sickening spin of the room. He reached out to grab the back of a chair, but his clammy, shakings hands had little strength.

"Mac?" Pete had seen the color drain from his colleague's face. He stood from his desk. "Mac? What's wrong? Are you all right?"

The younger man brought a hand to his forehead, the pain peaking sharply.

"MacGyver? Talk to me. What's going on?"

Mac opened his eyes for a split second, finding three Petes where there should have only been one. He groaned. "Pete, I think I might…" His words faded as he crumpled to the floor, taking the chair he had been hanging onto with him.

"MacGyver!" The director pushed the toppled chair out of the way and knelt beside the fallen man. "Mac? Can you hear me? Mac?!" He quickly made sure the troubleshooter was breathing before giving his arm a shake. There was no response.

"Peter, what was that god-awful crash – oh!" Helen stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. "What happened?"

"I don't know, he just collapsed. Get Ferris Harper down here – her office is on the tenth floor."

The older woman hesitated. "But, Pet…"

"Helen, please!" He didn't like to yell, but his best friend was lying unconscious at his feet. "Just call."

Flustered, she went to make the call.

"Come on, Mac," Pete muttered, trying to rouse him again to no avail. Distraught, he sat down beside him on the floor. "Just hang on, kiddo," he said, taking his hand to let him know he wasn't alone.

*

Help arrived in the form of Ferris Harper. Highly revered for her kind manner and aptitude for medicine, the young neurologist had come as soon as she'd gotten the call. After her initial evaluation determined MacGyver to be stable, she'd looked to Pete for answers to some of her questions.

"He seemed fine when I left his place last night. Maybe a little tired. I offered to stay with him, but he declined," Pete explained, recalling the events from the previous night.

"How long would you say this has been going on?" Ferris asked, periodically taking notes as he spoke. She was a petite woman with a pretty face, refined features, and short auburn hair. Both intelligent and charming, she had forged a name for herself in the field of pharmaceuticals research and development, and partnered with several of the country's leading neurologists.

"I started noticing a change in his behavior about a month and half ago. He seemed to be run down and tired all the time – neither of which is normal for Mac. I learned about the headaches when he abruptly excused himself from a meeting we were attending together." Pete looked anxiously over at his friend. They had moved him from the hard floor to the couch to recover; however he had yet to show any signs of waking.

"Are you aware of any head injuries he's sustained?"

"He's had several concussions in the last year alone."

Ferris raised an elegant eyebrow.

"He's a field agent. His work is routinely dangerous and he often goes into unknown situations without backup. He also plays hockey."

Her pen scratched quietly on her notepad. "Anything recent?"

"No, not that I'm aware of anyway. But we've all been going in so many different directions at once lately that I…" Pete paused, replaying the last month in his mind. "I could have missed something."

A low groan from the direction of the couch had them both turning to find Mac starting to come around. Ferris was on her feet and at his side even before Pete had a chance to stand up. "Take it easy, MacGyver. You're all right."

He held his throbbing forehead. "What happened?"

"You fainted," the doctor replied.

"And you scared me half to death."

Mac cautiously cracked open an eye to find his boss standing above him. "Sorry, Pete.

"How are you feeling now?"

The troubleshooter's bleary gaze shifted toward the unfamiliar voice. He'd seen the young woman in passing before, but his befuddled mind refused to provide a name. Thankfully the white lab coat and stethoscope she wore around her neck gave him another option. "Doctor."

"Call me Ferris. I must say, it's nice to finally meet the man that carries such legendary reputation around this place." She smiled when she saw a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "How do you feel?"

"Headache."

"Pete says you've been having them for quite awhile. Have they always been this bad?" she asked, easily gauging its severity by his pained expression.

"Not at first. The past few weeks have been the worst." He spoke quietly, the sound of his own voice reverberating painfully in his head.

"I'd say the past few _days _have been the worst, Mac," Pete said.

Ferris retrieved her notes from the desk. "Any other symptoms besides pain and the recent fainting spells? Any dizziness, blurred vision, nausea…?"

Mac nodded slowly as she continued down her list.

"He keeps saying this is all from being overtired and stressed."

"And it may very well be. Fatigue and stress can manifest themselves in many of ways, but based on what I've been hearing, there are a few things I'd like to rule out before…"

Ferris continued to converse with Pete, but MacGyver tuned them out. It wasn't intentional; his head was starting to demand his full attention again. It felt like someone was trying to bore a hole through his skull using an old hand drill, like the one his grandfather used to have in the barn. With each imaginary turn of the handle, he could literally feel the cold, rusty bit carving its way through his brain. It was a full-blown migraine; its intensity was making even his worst concussion seem tame.

"MacGyver?"

The doctor's quiet voice broke through his thoughts. He opened his eyes briefly, but the room's bright lights made keeping them open impossible. "I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."

"It's all right. I'd like to try giving you something for the pain. It's an injection, is that okay?" He consented with a nod, and she went to retrieve the bag she'd stashed beside the desk.

Surprised by his response, Pete reached out and gave his friend's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He knew how Mac felt about using medication, preferring old home remedies to manufactured pharmaceuticals. That he had agreed so readily to Ferris's offer was a testament to how awful he was feeling.

"What is that?" Pete asked, watching as Ferris loaded a syringe with a cloudy liquid.

"Proto-3. It's the most promising of the three drugs we're developing to treat migraines," she explained, recapping the hypodermic. "It provides the most relief with minimal side effects, and has been well tolerated by the majority of people in our study." She returned to the couch and extended MacGyver's arm into her lap. "It'll make you pretty tired, but…oh, ouch, where'd this come from?" She'd been pushing up his sleeve when she discovered a large, angry bruise on his right forearm.

"I don't know," Mac replied in all honesty. "I woke up with it this morning."

"You don't remember getting this at all?"

He shook his head, flinching as she pressed along the bone with her thumb.

"Maybe it happened when you feel off your couch?" Pete offered.

"When did that happen?"

"Sometime last night. I woke up under my coffee table."

His vague recollection gave her another piece of information to work with. "We may want to consider getting an x-ray of this later," she said, pushing up his sleeve and looping a rubber tourniquet around his bicep. "There could be a minor fracture underneath." A suitable vein surfaced in the bend of his arm and she cleaned it with alcohol.

Mac tensed when he heard the hollow pop as the cap was pulled off the syringe. The potential for relief or not, he still didn't like being stuck.

"I'll be quick," Ferris promised, and administered the drug.

The sting of the needle quickly faded, replaced by the dull warmth of the drug as it slowly entered his system. Mere seconds passed before he started feeling its effects, the pain in his head being extinguished like a fire.

"You okay?" she asked, watching as some of the hurt melted from his face.

"Yeah – wow," Mac uttered, appreciating the numbness that was overcoming his senses.

Ferris smiled. "We'll give it a few minutes to fully work and than move you up to my office so you can rest." She adjusted the blanket covering him and turned to Pete. "Can I see you outside for a minute?"

Pete followed her out of his office and into the hall. "What is it?"

"You've known MacGyver a long time, right?"

"We've been good friends for years. Why?"

"Do you know if he's ever had a seizure?"

"A seizure?" Pete echoed, surprised by her question. "No…no, not that I'm aware of. You think he had one?"

"It would certainly explain a few things. Like how he fell off his couch and got such a nasty bruise without any memory of it happening."

"My god, if he did – what does it mean?"

"Any number of things," Ferris said, trying not to give the older man more reason for concern. "But I need to run some tests before I can say for sure. I'm going to start by scheduling him for an MRI to rule out anything physical."

Pete's face blanched at this. "Ferris…"

She held up her hands to stop him. "It's standard practice, Pete. All my patients and study participants go through it."

"I wish he'd asked for help sooner, or at least _said something_. If he wasn't so damn stubborn..."

"Like you?"

"Worse!"

Ferris had to chuckle at the adamant look on his face.

"He's just so fiercely independent, so…" Pete's expression went solemn again as he considered what the near future could hold for his friend. "I guess I never let myself think about what this could really turn out to be." 

"I know it's difficult, but try not to see this as a worst case scenario," she said, putting a sympathetic hand on his arm. "Let me find out what's going on, and than we'll decide how best to fix it. Okay?"

Pete frowned. It _was_ hard not to see Mac's situation as dire, especially after she'd popped the seizure question on him only moments before. While her offer hadn't turned out to be the simple fix he'd expected, it was at least something to work with. "I guess it sounds like a plan."

She smiled. "Great. Listen, I know you have a meeting coming right up, but do you have time to help me get him upstairs? The Proto-3 won't put him down completely, but I think he'd appreciate some help staying on his feet."

"Of course."

They returned to his office, finding Mac dozing comfortably on the couch.

"MacGyver?" Ferris called, giving his arm a light squeeze.

The troubleshooter's eyes slowly slid open, blurry from sleep instead of pain. "Hmm?"

"Hi, sweetie. You ready to head upstairs? I think Pete needs his office back." The young man nodded drowsily and she slipped an arm around his shoulders to help him sit up.

The room gave a couple of slow spins, but it was nothing like the dizziness he'd had before. Looking around the office to get his bearings, his gaze fell on Pete's chaotic desk.

_Computer…_ He thought, his cloudy mind struggling to make a connection. _Computer… that means something…something important…something…_

Pete's hand appeared in front of his face, breaking his concentration.

"Think you can stand?"

Mac reached out and accepted his boss's hand, his attention returning to the computer even as he was pulled to his feet.

"What is it?" he asked, noticing the preoccupied look on the younger man's face.

"Nothing. I'm just…" Mac spotted the floppy disk holder sitting on a pile of books. _Disks…disk drive… hardware…software…software!_ "Willis!"

"It's already been taken care of. I had Helen call down. He said to take it easy and promised to save the complete system test for when you're feeling better."

A slight grin touched the corners of Mac's lips. "Nice," he uttered, having been looking forward to personally testing the new anti-breach software.

Ferris collected her gear and appeared at his side. "You ready to go crash for awhile?" she asked, slipping her arm around Mac's waist. He stood nearly a foot taller than her, but she was still able to provide him with some support.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, practically asleep on his feet. Shifting some of his weight onto Pete, he allowed himself to be herded toward the door and into the hall, the promise of a long, pain free nap becoming more tantalizing with every step.


	6. Chapter 6

12:03. Ferris copied the faintly glowing numbers from her watch to the notepad she had balanced on her knee. She was seated on the edge of the bed her office's quiet room, taking her newest patient's vital signs as unobtrusively as possible. Settling her stethoscope against her ears, she slid the metal disk between his arm and the blood pressure cuff. Positioning the gauge so she could see it in the room's dim lighting, she inflated the cuff and took a reading.

The doctor looked up from recording the results to find a pair of bleary brown eyes watching her. "Hi, Mac," she greeted, looping her stethoscope around her neck. "I'm sorry to wake you. You slept right through it the last time."

"Last time?" Mac asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Well, actually it was the last _couple_ of times, but yes. The medication I gave you is still in the experimental stage, so I've been checking on you every half hour. I closely monitor everyone in my study for adverse reactions."

"So I'm a guinea pig now, huh?"

Ferris smiled. "You are, albeit inadvertently." She took the blood pressure cuff from his arm. "Speaking of which, how you feeling?"

"Groggy."

"That's the Proto-3. It'll go away in a couple of hours, I promise. How about your head? Any pain?"

"Some, but it's tolerable." While the petite doctor jotted her notes, Mac took the opportunity to check out his surroundings. The room was small, no bigger than a generous walk-in closet, with institutional fixtures and several TV monitors recessed into the wall. The space was cool, quiet, and relatively dark, the perfect environment for catching a nap.

"We're in a room off my main lab," Ferris explained, having seen him looking around. "I use it primarily for sleep studies, but it's come in handy after pulling an all-nighter at the microscope. You don't remember coming in here, do you?"

"No."

"You were pretty out of it by the time we left the elevator."

"Where's Pete?"

"He's about two hours into the budget meeting. He said he'd come check on you when they broke for lunch."

Mac nodded and sighed, his eyes beginning to feel heavy again.

Reading his body language, Ferris stood. "I'll let you get back to sleep. Is there anything I can get you? Are you warm enough?"

"I'm good, thanks," the troubleshooter replied. He shifted around until he was on his side and burrowed deeper into the covers.

"I'll be working right out in the next room – give me a shout if you need anything." She smoothed out the top blanket and gathered her notes to leave. Pausing at the door, she dimmed the lights and turned back to look at him one last time. "Pleasant dreams," she said, and left him to sleep.

*

It was nearly quarter of two by the time Pete was able to break away from his meeting. Things were going surprisingly well despite his earlier reservations. The president of the Foundation seemed open to discussing the different departments' needs and wants, and had tentatively agreed to a fair amount of the propositions made so far.

Pete made his way down the long tenth floor hallway, heading for Ferris's lab in the back quadrant. Unlike the other floors of the building that were teaming with life, the tenth floor had little to see. It was primarily used for supply and equipment storage, but there were several spare offices and a conference room if things got busy. While most people believed the area was too quiet and out of the way, Ferris found it perfect for her lab, the limited traffic allowing her to conduct her drug trials and sleep studies uninterrupted.

The director opened the glass-fronted door and stepped inside. The main room itself was quite large and typical of a Phoenix lab. Workstations were scattered along the stainless steel counters, each one with its own unique set up and equipment. A bank of computers sat at the far end of the room, while rows of cabinetry and filing drawers lined the walls. Shelves stuffed with leather-bound books flanked an x-ray viewer, and even more were tucked neatly in between the assorted microscopes, centrifuges, and pharmaceutical paraphernalia. Clean and orderly, it was unmistakably the territory of a professional who was both dedicated and passionate about their work.

"Ferris?" Pete called, finding the lab empty.

"In here, Pete."

He headed toward the sound of her voice. It was coming from one of the smaller rooms attached to the main lab – the one they'd taken MacGyver into several hours before. He found his friend perched on the edge of the bed with his face buried in his hands and a trashcan at his feet.

"What's going on?" he asked, immediately noticing the concerned look on the doctor's face.

"He's a little sick," Ferris replied, seated beside him. "He was doing fine up until about ten minutes ago. I'm not sure what changed."

"A side effect?"

"It's possible, although he'd be the first one to experience acute nausea with this particular drug."

Pete sat in the plastic chair near the foot of the bed. "Mac?"

The troubleshooter slowly moved his hands away from his face, his expression a mixture of misery and pain. His skin had taken on a green hue and his shaggy bangs were matted with sweat.

"Hey. How you doing?"

"Not so good," MacGyver replied in a wavering voice.

"Are you sure he isn't having a reaction of some kind?"

The doctor shrugged, as equally concerned as she was frustrated. "I don't know. I'll need to do some blood work before I can say for certain, but I would …" She saw Mac flinch and tip his head to the side. "MacGyver, what's wrong?"

"Ringing," he muttered, looking decisively uncomfortable.

Pete exchanged a confused look with Ferris. "Do you hear anything?"

"No, not like…" Her eyes widened. "Come on, Mac. I want you to lie down." She stood and helped to settle him on his side, pushing the pile of blankets toward the wall.

"What's going on?" Pete asked, becoming worried when she lifted the bedside guardrail into place.

"He may be about to have a seizure."

"_What_?"

"There are several indicators that sometimes signal an impending seizure. They're called auras, and auditory hallucinations is one of them."

"Can't you do anything to stop it?"

"Without knowing for certain what's going on, I could make things worse by trying. Now if he does seize, I may need your help."

"Anything."

The troubleshooter curled into a ball and groaned, his head feeling fit to burst as the pain and ringing grew. Something was going to happen. Ferris was speaking to him, but the high-pitched whine between his ears made it difficult to hear the individual words. A sense of detachment washed over him like a wave and his consciousness waned. He tried to say something to Pete, but his words came out incomprehensible as he began to seize.

Alarmed, the director shot to his feet. "MacGyver!"

"Pete, I need your help," Ferris said, firmly griping her patient's shuddering arm and shoulder. "Take a hold of his legs. Don't try to restrain him – we just want to keep him from hitting the wall and hurting himself."

He was frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the frightening spasms that had engulfed his friend's entire body.

There was a loud thud as Mac's foot forcefully struck the wall.

"Pete!" The petite doctor's voice had taken on an edge of urgency.

Snapping out of his daze, he took a hold of Mac's long legs.

_This can't be stress…_ He thought, the randomness and intensity of the spasms making it difficult to keep his grip. _There's just no conceivable way that this is stress… _

"Easy, Mac, you're all right," Ferris soothed, offering the seizing man as much reassurance as she could. "Just let it happen."

Nearly two minutes later, the convulsion stopped, and MacGyver lay still. Both held their breaths, waiting and watching to see if it had truly ended.

"Is it over?" Pete asked at last, oblivious to the beads of sweat rolling down his pale face.

The doctor slowly nodded.

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know." Ferris put on her stethoscope and slipped the metal disk beneath her patient's shirt, trying to conceal her shaking hands. She had seen many seizures throughout her education and career, but this was the worst grand mal she'd witnessed firsthand. Although her impartial mask of professionalism hid her emotions well, her nerves had been rattled.

Ferris shut her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to focus. Through the ear buds of her stethoscope came the amplified sounds of Mac's breathing and heart, their rhythms and rates clearly stressed.

"It took a lot out of him," she replied, taking a penlight from her coat pocket and checking Mac's eyes. "Pupil response is sluggish and uneven…"

"And that means…?"

"It could be a of sign of inter-cranial swelling." She paused for a moment, fiddling with the penlight in her hands. "Pete, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but there's definitely something more than simple fatigue going on here. We need to run some basic tests to find out what it is, but…" The doctor sighed. There was no sense in adding to the man's worry. "Do you mind sitting with him? I need to make a phone call."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"I'll be right outside the door. If anything happens, I'll be able to see it."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Talk to him. Touch him. Let him know you're here. I'll be right back."

Pete watched her leave the room and appear in the doorway a moment later, the phone in her hand. She gave him an encouraging nod and he turned back to his unconscious friend. Sliding the plastic chair to the side of the bed, he sat down heavily and sighed, unsure what to say or even do. He finally reached out and took Mac's hand in his own, feeling the slight tremor that was still coursing through his body.

"I'm here, MacGyver. You're going to be all right. We'll get to the bottom of this and get you fixed up in no time." He fell silent, his encouragement sounding about as natural as a pitchman's call. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, this time choosing a topic he could talk confidently about.

"The budget meeting is going well. The company president seems pretty impressed with our department's work lately, and is eager to hear what we have planned for the upcoming year. It turns out one of the board members has a nephew that attends the Hillenburg School, and he spoke highly of the work you've been doing to improve the grounds. He was especially impressed by the pond and the perpetual waterfall you made out of an old garden hose and a discarded set of stone stairs."

"He made a waterfall out of a hose and stone stairs?" Ferris asked, appearing at his side. "That's…unique."

"Mac tends to see everyday items differently than we do," Pete explained with an almost father-like fondness. "He has a penchant for using them in ways they were never intended."

The doctor smiled. "So I've heard."

"He's gotten himself and others out of some pretty tough scrapes that way. He's even saved me a couple of times." Pete sighed and looked down at his friend. His breathing had slowed, but his pale features still showed discomfort. "He's not waking up."

"He probably won't for a while. What he went through was exhausting and he needs time to recover." She retrieved the blankets from the bottom of the bed and pulled them up over his motionless form. "I just spoke with Franklin, a colleague of mine out at the University Hospital."

The name was familiar. "Franklin? As in Franklin_ Cobb_, the neurosurgeon that's been all over the news for his research on brain function?"

Ferris nodded. "He also teaches a random class now and then at the University, which is where we first met. He's been a good friend and mentor for years, and now that we work together, he's become an invaluable resource. I told him what's been going on with MacGyver, and he'd like to see him as soon as possible."

"He thinks there's something serious going on."

"There are a lot of things in medicine that you can get away with, but fooling around with the brain isn't one of them."

Pete frowned, trying to decide if it was her way of metaphorically saying yes.

"Either way, we won't know for sure until we get him tested. Franklin is going to have an ambulance dispatched to pick him up. They should be here within 20 minutes or so."

"Can I go with him?"

"Certainly. But what about your meeting?"

"I've already said my piece and submitted my final report for review. They'll just have to finish the rest without me," he replied, hardly giving thought to how his boss would react to him missing the most important meeting of the fiscal year. "May I borrow your phone? I'd like to let a few people know I'll be stepping out."

"Sure."

He checked on MacGyver once more before standing and heading for the door.

"And Pete, if they say you can't go…"

The director stopped, but didn't turn around. "They won't have a choice," he replied, and left to make his call.

*

…_Bullet wound to right shoulder and wrist. Shoulder wound became infected and was treated by using primitive techniques. Proper treatment for wounds and infection were administered upon return stateside…_

…_Treated for mild hypothermia, basic contusions, and a minor concussion sustained during avalanche…_

…_Eight stitches to close wound from bullet graze. Patient also sustained a moderate concussion with a period of inclusive amnesia…_

Ferris shook her head as she skimmed through the medical file the Foundation had on MacGyver. It seemed the young man had been everywhere and done nearly everything, all while in the crosshairs of one extremist group or another. Based on some of the reports she'd read, it was a small miracle he was still alive.

She looked up from her reading and watched as two city paramedics carried her patient from the quiet room and settled him on a gurney. He was still unconscious, but she wasn't surprised. His seizure had been quite severe, and his body needed time to normalize itself.

Ferris flipped to the front of the sizable file and went back to reading. Since setting up her lab several months ago, she'd had an opportunity to meet many of the operatives who called the Phoenix Foundation home. While each agent imparted their own unique skills and techniques, they all shared the same passion for the job and genuinely wanted to make the world a better place. It was comforting to know there were still people out there willing to fight for and protect the underdog – be it flora or fauna, man or machine – even if it meant putting themselves in harm's way.

…_Impacted net during hockey scrimmage. Treated for three bruised ribs and twisted ankle…_

_And then again, boys will be boys… _she thought, a smile touching her lips.

Shouts came from the next room.

"Hey!"

"Take it easy, fella."

Ferris dropped the folder and hurried out into the main lab. "What's wrong?" she asked, finding both paramedics trying to hold a weakly struggling MacGyver in place.

"He's coming around," the medic controlling Mac's legs explained. "He started fighting us when the straps went on."

"It's post seizure confusion. He's been through…whoa, whoa! Take it easy!" the doctor exclaimed, placing a restraining hand on Mac's arm when he came up against the gurney's straps. "MacGyver? Mac, come on. You're all right."

The troubleshooter mumbled something incoherent and turned his head away from her voice.

"Mac? Can you hear me? Mac?" Ferris called to him a few more times, but he didn't respond. She took him by the chin, turning his face towards her. He tensed, but she didn't let go. "Easy, Mac. Come on. Open your eyes. Look at me."

His eyes opened briefly before shutting again against the bright light.

"That's it, MacGyver. Look at me. Show me those amazing eyes of yours," she urged, keeping her voice low and calm.

After a little more verbal prodding, he opened them again and focused on the face in front of him.

"Doctor," he uttered quietly, her name not immediately coming to mind.

"Now what did I say about calling me that?" Ferris asked lightly, letting go of his chin and taking his hand. She motioned for the medics to release their hold. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Confused. Sore."

"Your head hurt?"

"Everything hurts," he replied, his muscles aching like he'd been in a fight and lost. Miserably. "What happened?"

"You had a seizure. You're coming out of it all right though."

"Pete?"

"He had a few things to take care of before we leave. He's going to meet us in the lobby."

"Wait -- leave?" Mac asked, noticing the two paramedics for the first time.

"We're taking you to the University Hospital to see a friend of mine. He's going to help me figure out what's causing your headaches and seizures," she explained, moving as the medics covered her patient with a blanket. "He's a nice guy. I think you'll like him."

"We're about ready to move here, doctor," one of the medics said.

"All right. I just need to grab my notes." Ferris gave Mac's arm reassuring pat. "Hang in there, okay? We'll get through this."

MacGyver nodded and sighed, overwhelmed by the news_. First headaches, then fainting spells, and now seizures – what's going on? _

His eyes grew heavy and he allowed them to shut, intending to only rest for a minute. He didn't realize he'd dozed off until something cold and wet splattered against his face. Startled, Mac looked and caught a glimpse of the gray, cloud-choked sky before it was replaced by a low ceiling with frosted bright lights.

_An ambulance_… he thought dismally, having been inside one enough times to recognize it from his reclined position. _Great…_

Closing his eyes against the lights, Mac felt himself start to drift almost immediately. He was nearly asleep when he heard someone haul themselves into the back of the rig, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them. He looked up to find a familiar face looking down at him. "Pete?"

"Hey," the director said, settling down on the padded bench as the large vehicle's engine rumbled to life. He saw the younger man staring at him with a pensive look on his face. "What?"

"I thought…don't you have a meeting?"

Pete sighed. "I do, or rather I did. I'm coming with you instead."

"But, Pete…"

"No. I don't want to hear it. I had a decision to make, I made it, and it's final. I don't want you to worry about it, okay?"

MacGyver held his boss's gaze for a moment before relenting with a nod. He wasn't in the mood to argue specifics.

Pete squeezed his friend's arm through the blanket. "Get some rest."

Not needing to be told twice, Mac closed his eyes and sighed. Still exhausted from the seizure, it wasn't long before he dropped off completely, lulled to sleep by the gentle purr of the rig's engine.


	7. Chapter 7

"That'll be $1.15, please."

"What?"

"$1.15?"

"Oh. Right." Pete dug into his pocket and fished around for his wallet. "Sorry. I'm just a little…" He made a vague gesture with his hand before passing several crumpled bills to the waiting cashier.

"I understand, sir," she replied flatly, her expression polite but uninterested. Placing the money in the cash drawer, she handed him his change and returned to her magazine without another word.

Gathering his donut and coffee, Pete wandered over to a small table by a row of windows and sat down, staring out blankly at the rainy weather. Running on autopilot, he picked up his coffee and took a drink, cringing at its acrid, burnt taste.

_I wish I knew what was going on…_ He'd been separated from MacGyver at the Emergency Room doors not long after exiting the ambulance. Ferris had promised to keep him updated, but he hadn't heard anything in over three hours. After spending most of that time in the chaos that was the waiting room, he had gone in search of some solitude and found it in the corner of hospital's cafe.

Pete sighed and broke off a piece of his glazed donut. He wasn't hungry, but stress typically drove him to eat. The events of the last twenty-four hours had affected him profoundly, and it would take time to sort through his jumbled emotions. Worst of all were the vivid images of his friend seizing that kept playing across his mind, dredging up intense feelings of helplessness and guilt.

_Could I have done something to prevent this?_ He thought, picking absently at the sticky glaze coating his donut. _Did I miss something? Was I so preoccupied with work that I failed to notice he was going down hill *that* fast? Did he ever say something that should have alerted me to something being wrong? Did I really believe he was just tired, or was it a convenient answer for a hectic time?_

Puffing out a long sigh, Pete rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. The endless flow of questions bombarding his mind was starting to give him a headache. While the majority of his concern was for MacGyver, part of him wondered how his boss had taken the news of his sudden departure. He didn't have a chance to speak with the executive directly, but he'd left his notes and a message with the floor's secretary explaining the situation. The Foundation's president was exceptionally laid-back and approachable, but he still had a complex business to run. One of his top directors ducking out of an important meeting was unlikely to go over well, whatever the reason.

_And I won't know until I get back to the office. Unless he calls during a break in the…oh!_

The director nearly dropped his coffee as a thought came to mind. He reached into his coat and pulled a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket. Helen had run out to him just as he was leaving the building, saying it had come "directly from the boss." Focused on more urgent matters at the time, he had merely stuffed it in his pocket. Now he was afraid to open it.

Almost.

He slowly unfolded the yellow paper and braced himself for the worst. He found only two words written and underlined in his boss's blocky script. _Good Luck._ Pete blinked and reread the message several times before he was sure he wasn't seeing things.

_Good luck…_ he thought, feeling a small piece of the burdening weight lift from his shoulders. _And here I thought I was about to have my head handed to me…_

"I was hoping you'd still be here."

He looked up to discover Ferris standing at the other end of the table, her familiar white lab coat replaced with scrubs. "Hi."

"Get tired of the three ring circus they call the waiting room, did you?"

"You have no idea," he replied, returning the note to his pocket. "How's Mac doing?"

"He's doing all right," she said, looking around the small café and the people occupying several of the tables. "Let's take a walk."

Pete discarded the scraps of his snack and followed her into the hall.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long. Things took longer than expected in radiology," she explained, navigating the winding, people filled corridors with ease. "Mac's being settled into a room on the Oncology floor as we speak."

"Oncology?" Pete uttered, the word making his blood run cold. "But that's…you mean Mac…?"

They stopped in front of a row elevator doors. "We often work out of Oncology because it's quieter and less traveled than the general ward." Ferris pushed the call button that corresponded with the pale blue lift. "We've found it to be the most appropriate place for our patients to rest and recover, especially those coming out of surgery."

"So you found out what's wrong with him?"

"We did."

A hollow ding signaled the arrival of the lift. The doors slid open and several people stepped out.

"And…?" he pushed, following her into empty car.

"MacGyver's MRI revealed an abnormality just above his right temple," the doctor said once the doors closed and their ascent began.

The news hit the older man like a blow to the gut. "Oh, god…"

"It's small, but it's still causing enough pressure to build up around his brain to be a concern."

"Do you know what it is?"

"From the MRI alone, it's hard to say. However, based on Mac's medical records from the Foundation, Franklin and I are fairly confident that it's a pocket of scar tissue from a prior head injury."

"MacGyver has a friend who had complications from scar tissue. The man practically went crazy with paranoia."

The elevator came to a stop on the sixth floor.

"Every case is different," Ferris explained, exiting the lift. "Some people develop personality changes, while others simply have headaches."

"So how do you determine if it's scar tissue or…or something else?" Pete asked, the less crowded halls of the ward permitting him to fall into stride beside her.

"That's why I'm taking you to meet Franklin – to discuss the next step." She stopped in front of door with a heavily frosted window and the names F. Harper and F. Cobb printed in black. She opened it and motioned him forward. "After you."

Pete stepped hesitantly into the large room and looked around. An overstuffed leather couch occupied the wall to his left, flanked on either side by lofty bookshelves. Framed documents and abstract artwork decorated the walls, while several grinning skulls perched atop the cabinetry. Two solid wooden desks filled much of the remaining space, their tops littered with the paraphernalia of a busy office. Seated at one of the desks with his feet propped up and chair tipped back was a man Pete recognized from the news.

"Pete, I'd like you to meet my good friend and colleague Franklin Cobb," Ferris introduced as the middle aged man behind the desk set aside the file he was reading and stood. "This is Peter Thornton of the Phoenix Foundation. He's MacGyver's boss."

"And friend," Pete added quickly, grasping the hand the doctor had extended and giving it a firm shake. Franklin was a tall man with tousled brown hair and a kind, almost childlike expression. Not exactly the picture that came to mind when one considered his long list of credentials.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thornton. You folks at the Foundation do some incredible work."

"Oh, well, you know. We…we do our best to help those who…well…need help…" Pete stopped when he realized he was stammering and cleared his throat.

Franklin smiled, sensing the other man's nervousness. "Why don't you have a seat, Mr. Thornton and we'll get started."

"Thanks." Pete chose a padded chair across from the doctor's desk and sat down stiffly. "And it's just Pete, by the way. Mr. Thornton makes me feel old."

"Well, then it's definitely Franklin," he said, returning to his seat and tilting it back against the wall. He picked up a small paperweight skull and rolled it between his palms thoughtfully. "Now, I trust Ferris has filled you in on some of the details so far concerning MacGyver?"

"She said you found a small abnormality that's putting pressure on his brain," Pete replied, glancing at the petite woman seated beside him. "And that it might be scar tissue."

"That's correct. Would you like to see the scan images?"

"Sure."

Franklin flipped a switch to dim the room's lights and activated a small x-ray viewer on the wall. He removed a sheet of dark film from an envelope and placed it against the glowing panel to reveal several small monotone images.

"This is it," he said, tapping one of the MRI cross sections. "We estimate it to be slightly larger than a quarter."

Pete leaned in for a closer look; definitely able to tell something was different when he compared it to the other side of the scan. "So that's what's been causing his headaches?"

"The pressure caused by the mass, yes," Ferris clarified. "It's also responsible for the fainting spells and seizures he's been having."

The director sighed and sat back in his chair. "And you can't tell for sure if it is scar tissue?"

Franklin shook his head. "Not from these pictures alone. That requires a more comprehensive analysis."

"Pete, Mac's been scheduled for surgery at 8:00 tomorrow morning," Ferris said quietly.

For a moment, Pete was at a loss for words. The news of an abnormality in his best friend's brain had been hard to swallow, but now on top of this… "We're talking brain surgery here."

"With symptoms as severe as MacGyver's, it becomes necessary to remove the scar tissue before it can cause permanent damage," Franklin explained. "It's also the only way to be one hundred percent certain that we're dealing with scar tissue and not something malignant."

"How long?" he asked, his voice wavering.

"The procedure itself should only take a few hours, followed by some time in recovery. And, barring any complications, you should be able to take him home within a week or so."

"The risks?"

"All surgeries carry a risk. In a case such as this, the chance for infection, irreversible damage, coma, and death are always present."

Ferris reached out and took one of Pete's visibly shaking hands. "Even if we did forego the surgery, the risks will still be there. It's likely the inter-cranial pressure would continue to build, and if it reached a certain point, there would be very little we could do. By intervening now, we're giving Mac the best possible chance at beating this."

The older man felt numb. "Have you told him yet?"

"We explained what was going on and what we need to do. He was a little apprehensive, be took it well," Franklin said, removing the film sheet from the viewer and turning up the lights. "Frankly, he was more concerned how you'd take the news."

Pete chuckled nervously. "What can I say? The kid knows me." He sighed and shook his head. "Surgery. And here I thought he just needed a vacation."

"You had no way of knowing," Ferris reassured. "And neither did he."

The small doctor's words were true, but they did little ease the guilt he still felt. "Can I see him?"

"Certainly. Ferris will show you to his room."

"Thank you," Pete said, extending his hand to the surgeon as he stood. "For everything."

Franklin gripped the other man's hand. "No problem. We like to help people who need help here too."

The director tried to return the friendly smile, but the circumstances made it difficult. He joined Ferris at the door.

"It's just down the hall. You ready?"

"Yeah," he uttered, and followed her somberly from the room.

*

"This part of the facility is state of the art and is constantly being improved as new technologies become available," Ferris explained as she led the way through the quiet corridors. "The resident staff and students are dedicated to their work and caring for the patients on the ward." She looked back to find the older man a trailing a few paces behind, his face nearly blank. "Pete?"

"Huh? Oh, that's great," he replied, lost in his own thoughts.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that MacGyver's in good hands," she said as they stopped outside a door labeled 604.

Pete sighed. "I know. I just didn't wake up this morning expecting to hear my best friend and top field agent needed surgery."

"Nobody does – and it's hard, I know. But we'll get through it. We just have to take things one-step at a time. Okay?"

He nodded stiffly, although doubt still weighed heavily on his features.

"Well, this is it," Ferris said. "Room 604. It's actually one of the better rooms on the floor. The window points east and on a clear morning, the sunrise is amazing." She knocked quietly on the door before pushing it open and entering.

Stepping in behind her, Pete paused for a moment to allow his eyes time to adjust to the dim lighting. The mid-sized room was simply furnished with a bed, lounger, nightstand, and a small TV hanging in the far corner. The air was cool and quiet; much like the conditions in Ferris's lab back at the Foundation.

He approached the bed, resting his hands on the raised guardrail. Mac was asleep, curled up on his side and buried beneath several layers of blankets. An I/V was set in the back of his left hand, a bag of saline dripping a steady stream of clear fluid from above. His right arm was encased in a cast from wrist to elbow, a green camouflage pattern covering the hard outer shell.

"So he did break his arm."

"It's a hairline fracture along his radius," Ferris replied, keeping her voice low. "Normally we wouldn't need to cast such a break, but we thought it would be best to protect it in case he seized again."

Pete nodded, his eyes never leaving his friend. Even in the low light he seemed overly pale, his summer tan having faded along with his health. _I should have noticed that… _"I'm sorry, Mac."

Hearing the older man's voice, the troubleshooter woke from his doze. "Pete."

"Hey, kid. How're you feeling?"

"Drugged," he replied, shifting onto his back with effort. "But at this point, I'll take it."

"Now that we know what's going on, we can better control his pain. He's also on an anticonvulsant," the doctor explained, removing several folded sheets of paper from her pocket. "I have a few things I need to check up on, so I'll leave you two to visit. Just try to keep it short. Mac needs his rest."

"Of course." Alone with his friend, Pete settled into the lounger beside the bed. "How are you doing, Mac? Really."

His question was met with silence at first, and than a heavy sigh. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid," MacGyver replied quietly, staring up at the featureless ceiling. "But the alternative isn't much better."

"It's probably no consolation, but I'm scared too. I have been since the incident last night at the school."

"Is that why you left the meeting?"

_So much for a closed subject…_ "I didn't want you to be alone. And I had to see for myself that you were going to be okay."

Mac rolled his head on the pillow, shifting his gaze to study his friend's face in low light. "You feel guilty." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Pete admitted. "A little." _A lot._

"Why?"

"Because if I hadn't been so preoccupied with the budget, then maybe, somehow, I could have prevented this. Or at least kept it from getting to this point."

"Pete…"

"No! I should have _seen_ something, Mac. We're practically around each other everyday. How could I have totally missed seeing this coming?"

"You've been under lots of pressure."

The director shook his head. "That's no excuse. I should have listened to my gut when you first left that meeting a month ago. We should have gone straight to Ferris. She would have found the problem and…"

"I wouldn't have gone," Mac interrupted quietly. He disliked seeing his friend so upset, especially when it concerned something out of his control.

"Why not?"

"Pride. Denial. Ignorance. I was stressed and overtired. Besides, at the time, it was _just_ a headache." The troubleshooter sighed and shut his eyes. Whatever Dr. Cobb had given him was starting to play tug-of-war with his consciousness. "Even after what I went through with Steve Morrison, I never considered the same thing could happen to me."

"You had no reason to," Pete replied, standing and going to his side. He could tell he was starting to lose him to the drugs he'd been given. "Your symptoms were totally different. He was paranoid and tried to hurt a lot of people. You stuck it out until your body had had enough. Like Ferris said: every case is different."

MacGyver nodded, but didn't open his eyes.

"We're going to get through this. Get some rest, and I'll give you a call later, all right?"

He got no response; the younger man already asleep. Giving Mac's arm a parting pat, Pete slipped out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

"Everything all right?" Ferris asked, coming around the partition of the nurses' station.

"Yeah. He's asleep."

"That's good. The more rest can get, the better."

The director nodded absently, his mind appearing to be elsewhere.

"Are you okay?" she asked, unable to read his expression.

"Me? I'll be fine. I'm just trying to sort through the jumbled mass of thoughts in my head. Everything has happened so quickly – it still doesn't seem real."

"It's not an easy situation for anyone to deal with. Just try to keep your thoughts positive, and it'll be over with before you know it," she encouraged. "Listen, about tomorrow, the ward doesn't open for visitors until 10:30, but we can make an exception if you'd like to see Mac before he goes into surgery."

"Yes – please."

"They'll probably take him down to prep around 7:15, so anytime before that would be fine. I'll let the duty nurse know you're coming in."

"Thank you, Ferris," Pete said sincerely. "This – everything – it means a lot."

The small doctor smiled. "You're more than welcome."

Pete looked reluctantly at the closed door to MacGyver's room and sighed. "I suppose I should stop by the office and see how the meeting turned out."

"Do you need a cab?"

"No – I'll find someone at the Foundation who can pick me up."

"All right. I'll see you bright and early then."

"I'll be here."

"Good– and I know this is easier said than done, but try not to worry too much. Mac's in good hands." She turned and headed back toward her shared office, her heels clicking quietly against the linoleum floor.

'_Try not to worry' she says…_ he thought, making his way towards the elevators. _Right…_


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning found Pete seated at MacGyver's side, his hands tightly gripping the edge of his briefcase to keep them still. He had gotten little sleep the night before, his anxious mind keeping him awake with countless worries and what ifs. He was trying to keep his nervousness from affecting his friend, but it was difficult. Drowsy as he was from the premeds he'd been given, Mac still picked up on his unrest and had tried to reassure him that things were going to be fine.

_And I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting him…_ he thought, watching the younger man doze. The room was quiet, isolated from the morning routine of the ward behind its closed door. Pete hadn't said much since he arrived, the situation calling for something more profound than small talk. He kept watching the clock, dreading the moment when the hospital staff would come and take his friend away, leaving him behind to wonder and worry about what was going on.

"I'd trade places with you if I could," he said, finally breaking the silence.

Mac opened his eyes. "I appreciate it…but I'd never ask you to."

"You're a good man, MacGyver," Pete declared, squeezing his arm. "I just wish there was more I could do for you."

There was a light knock at the door.

"Morning, Pete," Ferris greeted as she and a nurse entered the small room.

"Morning, Ferris," he replied, his anxiety sharply peaking. "That time already, huh?"

She gave him an empathetic smile. "Yeah, it is."

With a shaky sigh, the director stood and pushed his chair out of the way of the nurse who was preparing Mac to move.

"Hi, sweetie," Ferris said, taking a moment with her patient. "You're looking kind of sleepy. Are you nervous?"

"A little," he uttered, privately thankful for the calming effect of the drugs coursing through his system. He typically managed stress well, but the inability to get up, move around, and burn off the excess energy it generated would have left him teetering on edge.

"It's all right to be nervous. We're going to do everything we can to make things go as smoothly as possible."

"Ready when you are, Dr. Harper," the nurse said, unlocking the bed's final wheel for transport.

Ferris moved to allow the long bed to be turned and maneuvered out of the room. The older man stood stiffly against the wall, tightly clutching his briefcase and jacket against his chest. "Walk us to the elevators?"

"Okay." He followed the small doctor out of the room and fell into step beside her.

"Were you planning on staying around?"

"Yes. I cleared my calendar. I know it's going to be a long day, but I want to be here for him."

"Franklin estimates the procedure will take about three, three and a half hours to complete. We'll keep him in recovery until we're certain he's stabilized – probably a couple of hours. Do you know where the waiting room is?"

"Second floor, east wing?"

"Right. There's a monitor there that will tell you where he is at all times. Once he's settled in recovery, I'll come let you know how things went."

"I'd appreciate that."

The procession came to a stop in front of the elevator bay.

_This is it…_ Pete thought, his heart leaping into his throat. He drew in a steadying breath and stepped up to his friend's side. "MacGyver?"

The troubleshooter cracked open an eye. "Relax, Pete, would ya? I'll be fine."

The candid remark made Pete grin. He reached out and took Mac's hand. "I know you will. Good luck, kid. I'll be here when you wake up."

The elevator announced its arrival with a hollow ding, its stainless steel doors sliding open.

He gave Mac's hand a final squeeze before letting go and moving out of the way. Ferris followed, turning back to offer him a kind smile.

"Take care of him."

"We will," she affirmed as the doors started to close. "I promise."

Pete looked up at the number box above the sealed doors, watching the numbers slowly count down and stop at the surgical ward. With a sigh, he turned and made his way toward the public elevators at the other end of the hall.

_Good luck, my friend… _He thought with a heavy heart. _Good luck._

*

Time passed slowly for Pete. Isolated in the far corner of the waiting room, he sat surrounded by the files and reports he'd brought from work doing his best to keep busy. He'd hardly moved from his chair, getting up only to visit the vending machines and restroom. A pile of coffee cups and snack wrappers had accumulated on the table in front of him, hiding the rumpled magazines and brochures beneath.

As the morning hours marched on toward afternoon, Pete barely noticed the other people as they came and went. He checked the status monitor at the front of the room constantly, his concern increasing tenfold when his friend's time in surgery went past the three and a half hour mark.

_What's happening? Is everything all right? Did something happen? Did something go wrong? Would they tell me if something _did _go wrong? Would they let me…?_

His worried thoughts were interrupted when the word beside MacGyver's name changed from "surgery" to "recovery." Pete slumped forward and buried his face in his hands for a moment, suddenly feeling exhausted. It was over. Now he just had to wait to hear how Mac had done from Ferris.

With a grunt, Pete stood and stretched out his tense, sore back. He contemplated another trip to the vending machines for more coffee, but his jittery hands and the pile of empty cups on the table told him he'd already had enough. Instead he settled for cleaning up his whirlwind of a mess, slightly amused that it had taken him a mere four hours to make his small corner of the waiting room look like his desk. He was just closing his briefcase when he heard a familiar voice say his name.

"Pete?"

"Ferris!" he exclaimed, catching his shin painfully on the table as he hurried over to meet her. "Mac…how'd he…is he okay?"

"He's doing just fine, Pete," she replied, motioning for him to take a seat and settling down beside him. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long. I wanted to make sure was coming out of the anesthesia all right before I left."

"So…everything went okay?"

The young doctor nodded. "The surgery went well. We did encounter some extra bleeding and swelling, but given the amount of irritation the mass was causing, it was to be expected. All in all though, it was a textbook procedure."

"And was it scar tissue?"

"We're sending samples to the lab just to be certain, but we're fairly confident that's all it was."

"Thank god," he muttered, relief evident on his face.

"He'll probably be in recovery for another hour or two to give his vitals a chance to come up and stabilize. We're giving him blood to replace what he lost during surgery, so that should help speed things up a bit," she explained.

"When can I see him?"

"As soon as he's out of recovery and settled in his room. You'll have to keep your visits short for the next couple of days – rest is going to play an integral roll in the healing process."

"Of course."

"Listen, I should probably be getting back up to recovery. I just wanted to update you and see how you were doing."

"I'm doing good," he said. "Great now, in fact."

Ferris smiled and stood, catching a glimpse of the empty cups and wrappers on the table behind Pete. "Lunch?"

"Breakfast, actually," he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. "I didn't want to stray far and I really wasn't that hungry…"

"Tell you what," she began, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a small, laminated card. "Take this down to the cafeteria and get yourself some real food." Visions of the previous day's donut and coffee flashed into her mind and she quickly snatched it back. "Better yet, _I'll_ call down and order a meal _for_ you. It'll be ready when you get down there."

"Ferris?" Pete said, his tone incredulous.

"You've been under a lot of stress lately. Eating junk food is only going to make you feel worse and will do nothing to help your diet." She crossed her arms and looked up as if daring him to challenge her authority. He didn't. _Good. _The conversation she'd had with MacGyver about his boss had paid off. She headed for the door.

"W-wait – what about…?"

"I'll send someone for you when Mac's ready for visitors. It's going to be at least an hour, though, so take your time." She left him then, disappearing between two groups of people congregating by the door.

_What just happened? _Pete thought, shocked by the appearance of Ferris's tenacious side. He stood bewildered for a moment before shaking it off and going to gather his things. Disposing of his trash, he set a course for the hospital's cafeteria, troubled by what the petite doctor might do if he arrived late to his prescribed meal.

*

"…Please try to limit your visit to ten minutes or less, and if he falls asleep while you're there…"

"Don't wake him up," Pete interrupted, completing the nurse's lecture for her. It had been a constant string of chatter since they left the cafeteria, but the young woman seemed so passionate about her speech he didn't have the heart to tell her he'd been through several post-surgery visits in the past.

"Correct," she said, leading him straight to room 604. "If you need anything, just give a ring. Have a nice visit."

Pete smiled and nodded his thanks. He was anxious to see his friend, but he wasn't feeling as tense as before. The hearty meal of a sandwich and soup that Ferris ordered for him had filled his stomach and settled most his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the doorknob and let himself into the dark room.

The slow, steady beep of a heart monitor greeted him as he wandered over to the bed. He found Mac asleep, lying semi-reclined under a pile of warm blankets. His head was swathed in a heavy white bandage, and a nasal cannula rested beneath his nose supplying him with extra oxygen. His pale face was swollen and his eyes bruised, both temporary side effects caused by the trauma of surgery.

He reached down and took MacGyver's hand, mindful of the additional I/V lines that had been put in place. "You did it, Mac," he said quietly. "You made it through. Everything's going to be okay now."

Through the dense fog of the lingering anesthesia, Mac heard the familiar tones of his friend's voice. Clawing his way to the surface, he opened his puffy eyes and sought out his blurry form. "Pete…"

The director beamed. "Hey, kiddo. How do you feel?"

"Not sure. Can't…feel much…" the troubleshooter slurred, the words grating uncomfortably against his dry, aching throat. "Water?"

Pete retrieved the ice water that was sitting on the bedside table. "Here," he offered, holding it steady and guiding the straw to his friend's mouth.

MacGyver sated his thirst with several deep swallows before relaxing against the pillows. "Thanks."

"No problem." He returned the cup to the table. "Ferris said your surgery went well. Textbook even."

"You stayed?"

"I did. I was here the whole time in case you needed me."

The barest of smiles appeared on Mac's lips. "Thanks," he uttered, his eyes sliding shut as he began to lose the fight against the cocktail of drugs in his system. "Sorry, Pete. Tired."

"I know. It's okay." He was reluctant to leave, but knew his friend needed rest more than he needed to be fussed over. "I'm going to go so you can rest. Can I call you later to see how you're doing?"

MacGyver nodded once and fell still.

Pete smiled. He was glad to see the pain lines had faded from his face. He patted the younger man's arm. "I'm proud of you, kid," he said, and quietly let himself out.

*

Despite his best intentions, Pete saw little of MacGyver during the two days following his surgery. As Ferris forewarned, his visits were limited, the staff allowing him just three, short sessions a day. Mac was often asleep, either by his own accord or from the medication they were using to ease his post surgery migraines. Although he'd been reassured that such fatigue and headaches were to be expected, Pete still found it hard to see his friend in such pain.

Pete met with Ferris and Franklin on the second day as a follow up and to make plans for the days ahead. Both doctors were pleased by MacGyver's progress and confident his recovery would be complete. A letter from the lab confirmed that the mass they'd removed was comprised of scar tissue, putting all worries of something worse to rest. Barring the unforeseen, Mac was set to be discharged the following Thursday with periodic visits scheduled to monitor his condition throughout the healing process.

By the third day, the restrictions on visitation had been lifted. Pete arrived to find his friend awake and sitting up, his bed littered with the many sections of the Sunday paper. Mac was finally starting to look like himself again, his color returning as the swelling and bruising around his eyes slowly diminished.

"Well, look who's awake!"

"Morning, Pete," Mac greeted.

"You must be starting to feel better."

"I am."

"That's good," Pete said, settling into the chair beside the bed. He nodded toward the scattered paper. "I thought Ferris said you needed to take it easy for a while."

"She did," Mac replied, confused.

"Then she's obviously never seen you with the sports section before."

The troubleshooter grinned. "It's not like it's hockey season. Besides…" He fished the local section from the pile. "I'm more interested in this."

Pete took the paper and read the bold headline Mac pointed to. " _'Hack-a-Mattack' Hacker Strikes Again -- 3 Businesses Crippled.'_ Huh. I thought the police were onto this guy."

"Apparently not. He managed to wipe the hard drives and effectively shut down two pharmacies and a bank overnight. According to the article, the authorities think he's more of a nuisance than a threat."

"But you disagree."

MacGyver shrugged. "During the six weeks he's been operating, he's had ample opportunity to steal millions of dollars from private funds, but he hasn't. Instead, he's forced several dozen businesses to shut their doors while they recovered their data systems. He's a conglomerate nightmare."

"You think he's laying the groundwork to do some real damage?"

"I think he's practicing for something bigger, yeah. Or he's bluffing."

"Bluffing? You mean he's not as good as he appears to be?"

"There's a lot of power in intimidation, Pete. I'm just glad Willis got the rest of the computers upgraded."

"You think he's going to try to hit Phoenix?"

"Think? No. It's more like hope. If the new program does what it's supposed to, we should be able to get a lock on where this guy is working from and possibly shut him down for good."

Pete chuckled and shook his head. "You sound just like Willis, you know that?" It was nice to hear MacGyver talking passionately about something. It was a sure sign he was on the mend. "So last night went well?"

"Yeah – I had a headache, but it went away on its own. I still get tired though."

"You _did_ just have a major operation, Mac," Pete said, sensing his frustration. "You're not going to be back at one hundred percent overnight. You've got to give yourself some time to heal."

"I know," he sighed.

"Ferris and Franklin are both happy with the progress you've made, and if all goes well, you'll be out of here by Thursday. Apparently you're healing faster than most people they've seen."

"I guess my body wants outta here as much as my mind."

The director smiled. "You been up and around yet?"

"Does to the bathroom count?"

"Certainly."

"Then yes. Twice," Mac replied, recalling how unsteady he'd been the first time on his feet. "Dr. Cooper said I can try a short walk around the ward when he comes in this afternoon. I guess he doesn't want me wandering unsupervised yet."

"Well, you need to take things one step at a time. Literally. You don't want to rush into things and set yourself back, do you?"

"No."

"I didn't think so." Pete reached down for the bag he'd brought and settled it in his lap. "I've got something for you."

"Oh?" The dejection instantly gone from his voice.

"Ferris told me you were feeling a little self conscious about your bandage, so I thought this might help." He pulled out an oddly shaped object wrapped in black tissue paper and handed it to his friend.

Mac looked at the package for a moment before pulling off the wrappings, a boyish grin appearing on his face. "Sweet," he uttered, staring down at the gaudy green, white, and yellow hat. He fingered the Minnesota North Stars hockey team emblem on the front.

"You have one like it?"

"Years ago – I think it got lost during one of my moves." He studied it for a minute longer before placing it on his head. It fit like a glove and hid the white bandages almost completely. "Thanks, Pete,"

"You bet," he replied; glad to have cheered the younger man up. "Well, since the nurses won't be kicking me out of here for a while, is there anything you wanted to do? Maybe take in a movie? I hear they have quite a collection here."

Although watching TV wasn't high on his list of priorities, Mac agreed just the same. He owed his boss a debt of gratitude for all his support, and if watching a few movies was one way to do it, then so be it. "Sure, why not?"

"Great. They have a list at the nurses' station. I'll go get it." Pete stood and headed for the door, pausing as he reached for the knob. "I know this will probably sound lame in comparison to what you've been through, but the past few days have been rough. Between not knowing what was wrong and waiting out the surgery, for a while there I thought…" he stopped and sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm glad you're going to be okay, MacGyver."

"Me too."

Smiling, Pete stepped out of the room, content in knowing that everything was going to be all right.

*


	9. Chapter 9

MacGyver sighed and rolled on to his side. It was easier to move now that the I/Vs were gone, but the cast on his arm still weighed him down. He looked out the window, gazing at the thousands of bright city lights that winked and twinkled against the darkness. The hour was late, yet he couldn't sleep, proving that his old nemesis insomnia could find him anywhere.

He'd expected to be tired after spending most of the day with friends. Pete and Helen came first, arriving at his door shortly after the ward opened for visitors. Helen had given him a stuffed bear dressed in hockey gear and a giant puck made of chocolate. The two headed back to the Foundation a little after lunch, and Mac managed a short nap before Willis showed up with the early test results for the new security software.

Since being activated, the program had detected several attempts to access the system, but none of them matched Hack-a-Mattack's signature. Security deemed them minimal threat risks as they were likely employees trying to access secondary directories from home. Over the weekend, a modest statement about the program had been released to the media in hopes that the troublesome hacker would take the bait.

Mac shut his eyes against the city lights. His head hurt, but it was tolerable. The dull ache he'd come to associate with healing was nothing more than a nuisance, and it certainly didn't warrant calling a nurse. With only two days left before his discharge, he had become even more reluctant to accept anything for the pain. He didn't like how the drugs made him feel, and he didn't want to give the doctors another reason to keep him longer than they already were.

Uncomfortable on his side, the troubleshooter returned to his back and tried to find a soft spot on the mattress. Determined to get to sleep, he cleared his mind and made himself relax. He had nearly succeeded when a distressed cry from the hall had him on his feet and out the door before he realized what he was doing. Mac quickly located the source of the commotion, and poked his head through the open door of the staff lounge.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, finding several of the night nurses huddled around the sink. "I heard a shout…"

"Oh, Mr. MacGyver. I'm sorry I woke you," said a young nurse, her face red and eyes brimming with tears.

"It's just Mac," he replied, noticing one of the other nurses was looking down the sink's drain with a flashlight. "What's wrong?"

"I was washing my hands when my engagement slipped off. It went down the drain. My fiancé just proposed to me last night -- I haven't had a chance to get the ring sized," she explained. "He's going to be so upset that I…I lost…" She began to cry in earnest, one of the other nurses coming to console her.

"What about maintenance?"

"He just clocked out for break and won't be back for an hour," an older woman replied matter-of-factly. Mac recognized her as the duty nurse, a humorless stick in the mud who likely saw her young apprentices as nothing but trouble. "We'll just have to wait until he gets back."

"Why don't I take a look?" he offered.

The duty nurse shook her head. "No. Absolutely not, Mr. MacGyver. You're a patient, not a plumber, and you should be asleep like the others. Now let's get you back to bed, and…"

Mac straightened up to his full height and looked down at the nurse. He wasn't trying to intimidate her, but he didn't appreciate being treated like a child, either. "I don't mind. Really. And if it helps, I'll take full responsibility for myself."

The nurse gave him a look that would have sent her young wards scuttling for the safety of the shadows. When he failed to react in the same fashion, she threw up her hands and gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Do what you want, but you're wasting your time. There's no way you can get that ring without maintenance," she huffed. "And don't come complaining to me when you work yourself into a migraine." She turned to the cluster of young nurses that had been watching the argument through wide eyes of awe. "Evens, Parson, and Miller, come with me, please. We have rounds to do."

The duty nurse stalked off with the young girls on her heels. MacGyver cringed and rubbed his forehead, the stimulation from the confrontation causing the ache in his head to spike.

"Mac?"

He turned to find himself alone with the nurse who'd lost the ring. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, but her eyes were wide with surprise. "I've never seen anyone stand up to Nurse Saunders like that before. How…?"

The troubleshooter smiled sheepishly. "It was a knee jerk reaction," he replied, continuing when she appeared confused. "Let's just say I've had a lot of practice in dealing with difficult people." He wandered over to the sink and stared down into the stainless steel basin.

"She's right, you know. There's no way you'll be able to get my ring without the custodian."

"There's always that chance, but I like to see what my other options first." He crouched down and opened the cabinet doors beneath the sink to look at the plumbing. It was a common set up of PVC pipes and metal joints. A slow elbow curve led from the drain to a box trap before finally connecting with the sewer line.

"Have you used the sink at all since you lost the ring?"

"No. I shut the water off the second I noticed it was gone."

"Then there's a chance it's still in the trap," he said, wrapping his good hand around the pipe and giving it an experimental twist. The connection held fast and he frowned. "Abigail, is it?" he asked, glancing at her nametag.

"Abby."

"All right, Abby, I don't suppose you ladies keep a monkey wrench handy, do you?"

She shook her head.

_So much for the easy way…_ Mac thought, mentally estimating the distance between the drain and the trap. _And a hook and line would be useless against that slow curve. Unless… _He stood up and scanned the room, his gaze stopping on a cluster of coats hanging on the back wall. _Bingo…_

"See? It _is_ impossible!" Abby exclaimed as he walked past her. "There's no way you can get those pipes apart."

"Nope." He reached into the shallow closet and pushed the garments to one side, discovering several empty wire hangers in the back. He took two and returned to the sink. "We're just going to have to find a different way."

"A different way? But how? There's only _one way_."

"Aw, come on," Mac muttered, trying unsuccessfully to unwind the twist holding the heavy gauge wire in shape. "There's always another way. Some are just less obvious than others. Do you keep any tools laying around?"

"Just what's in this drawer," she said, opening a small drawer beneath the counter. "But you won't find anything strong enough to get those pipes apart."

MacGyver rummaged through the odd assortment of screwdrivers, hammers, bolts, and small wrenches. He hit pay dirt when he came across a sturdy pair of pliers, wire cutters, and a roll of black electrical tape.

Abby watched with interest as the troubleshooter used the wire cutters to remove the hook and twisted neck from both hangers. Using the pliers, he went to work unbending the curves until he was left with two fairly straight pieces of wire. He fastened them together with electrical tape, and used the pliers to bend a small hook at one end of the line. When he was done, Mac fed the end with the hook down into the drain and slowly advanced it down the pipe.

"Mac, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but…I don't think…there's no way…"

Deep in concentration, MacGyver ignored the girl's skepticism and focused on visualizing the hook snaking its way through the pipe. When it met resistance, he shifted his end of the wire until it gave, the hook entering the trap. Pushing the wire in as far as he could, he slowly moved it back and forth, covering as much of the trap's floor as possible. Once satisfied he'd done enough, he began to withdraw his improvised fishing line being careful not to lose anything the hook may have snagged.

"If this doesn't work, thank you for trying," she said, watching over his shoulder. "You certainly didn't have to volunteer to do this. It means a lot."

Mac nodded, the bulk of his attention still on the wire in his hands. At last he saw the hook coming into view, and his hopeful expression fell into a frown. "I guess you were right."

What little hope had been in Abby's eyes faded too. "It's all right, Mac. I'll just wait for…"

"I didn't have to volunteer to do this. But I'm glad I did." He pulled the wire the rest of the way out of the drain and held it up for her to see. Dangling from the hook was the gold diamond band her fiancé had offered to her from his knees.

"You…" Stunned, Abby reached out and took the ring from the hook. "But…how…I thought…oh my god…Thank you."

Mac grinned and leaned against the sink, watching as the young nurse went from disbelief to shock, amazement, and finally tearful relief. "You're welcome."

"I don't know how you did it, but…How can I ever repay you?"

"Don't worry about it. Just be sure to get your ring sized before you wear it again. Drain trap fishing is more of a sport of chance than skill. We got lucky tonight, but next time…whoa!" Mac unexpectedly found himself engulfed in a bear hug, Abby squeezing him with all her might. He chuckled and patted her back.

"I won't forget this," she said once she'd regained her composure. She took the coat hanger contraption off the counter and studied it for a moment; still amazed that something so simple had actually worked. "Seriously. It's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Well, I'm glad I could be of assistance." He motioned towards the door. "Why don't you go let your friends know you're all right. They seemed pretty concerned when they left."

Abby grinned. "Nurse Saunders is going to flip when she hears this. I can't wait to see the look on her face." She went to leave, but paused at the door, suddenly remembering the man that had helped her was still a patient. "Would you like some help getting back to your room?"

"I think I can find my way."

"Give a ring if you need anything. Good night, Mac, and thanks again."

The troubleshooter waved and Abby left.

Still grinning over the whole incident, Mac returned the tools to their drawer and headed back to his room. He didn't realize how much the excitement had taken out of him until he sat down on his bed, the wave of fatigue catching him by surprise.

_Man…_ he thought, dropping back against the pillow and reaching for the blankets. _I gotta get out more often. _He yawned and idly rubbed the bandage on his head, trying to massage away the ache that had settled behind the healing wound. He suspected he'd done too much, too soon, but it was a small price to pay for the fulfillment he felt.

Shifting onto his side, MacGyver closed his eyes and relaxed. Within minutes he was fast asleep, lulled by the satisfaction of a job well done.

*

"Were there any messages left while I was gone?" Pete asked, barely out of the elevator before springing the question on his secretary.

Helen glanced up from the document she was keying into the computer. "Nothing yet, Peter. I'm sorry."

The director sighed and shook his head. "Why is it taking them so long to get back to me? What's going on over there?"

"I'm sure MacGyver is perfectly fine. You just happened to call at a bad time."

"But twice? Three hours apart? All the nurses kept telling me is that he's just tired."

The older woman stopped typing, unable to concentrate with him shedding his concerns all over her desk. "Maybe he is."

"Maybe I should call again." He reached over the counter for the phone, but Helen intercepted his hand.

"Let the man rest, Peter. Someone will call you when they get the chance, and I will let you know just as soon as they do."

Pete frowned, although it was more out of concern for his friend than annoyance. "All right. I'll give it another hour. If I don't hear anything by then… I just hate not knowing."

"I know you do," Helen replied. "Almost as much as you hate waiting."

Pete grunted and continued down to his office. Once inside, he added the folders he'd been carrying to the small mountain already on his desk. Since Mac had fallen ill, he'd had little time or ambition to organize his work. He spent as much time at the hospital as he could, and the lack of his usual attention to detail was starting to show.

He moved several reports off his chair and sat down, his eyes immediately going to the phone. He knew Helen was right. Someone from the hospital would call when they had new information to give him. Knowing this, however, didn't make waiting any easier.

Pete flipped on his computer. While waiting for it to boot, his mind wandered back to the phone conversation he'd had with MacGyver the night before. He'd sounded all right, the younger man returning to his old self with each passing day. They'd chatted some about Willis's visit and the excitement surrounding the early success of the new computer program. Toward the end, Pete informed him of a meeting he had to attend the following day and his inability to visit until later that evening. Mac took the news in stride and agreed to give him a call after breakfast.

When nine-thirty rolled around and the call never came, the director placed one himself, only to be transferred directly to the nurses' station. He was told MacGyver was still asleep, and to try back later. Pete tried again when his meeting broke for lunch and received the same message. He'd asked if there was anything wrong, and the nurse simply replied that Mac had a long night and was extremely tired. Concerned, he put in a request for Ferris to contact him as soon as she arrived.

_And that was over three hours ago…_he thought, keying his password into the computer. He'd spent the last half of the meeting lost in his own world, wondering what could be wrong with his friend._ The nurse said he had a long night, so it can't be good. Why wouldn't they tell me what was going on? I should have skipped the meeting. I should have gone over there. I should have…_

His phone beeped and Helen's voice came from the speaker. "Dr. Harper is on line 3 for you, Peter."

The director practically pounced on the phone. "Thanks," he mumbled, the receiver already half way to his ear. He composed himself briefly before toggling the blinking button beneath the number 3. "Thornton."

"_Hi, Pete. It's Ferris Harper calling from the University Hospital. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back to you, there's a lot going on over here right now."_

Pete felt his stomach clench. "I-is everything all right?"

_"Everything's fine. Just a lot of visitors in and out."_

"What about Mac? I've tried calling him a couple of times, but he's been asleep. Is he okay?"

"_MacGyver's doing good. According to the notes left by the evening staff, he had a bit too excitement late last night, so he's feeling pretty lousy today."_

"Excitement? What happened?" Pete listened intently as Ferris explained his friend's creative antics, including the dressing down of duty nurse. "Yeah, that sounds like Mac," he chuckled, relieved that it wasn't something more serious.

_"He became an instant hero to all the young women on the floor. You think they fawned over him before, you should see them now." _The doctor sighed, turning serious. _"Unfortunately his noble actions came with a price. He had to be treated for a migraine early this morning and he's been asleep for the majority of the day. Simply put: he's plum tuckered out."_

"But he's going to be all right?"

"_He'll be fine. I think he just pushed himself too fast, too soon. My biggest concern is that he's refused all his meals. I know he's not overly fond of the food here anyway, but he needs to keep his strength up."_

Pete recalled his friend commenting on how excessively processed the food was. While most wouldn't balk at the idea of eating syrup soaked pancakes and hot dogs several times a week, Mac rarely touched the stuff himself. Over the years, his diet had become more natural and he tended to shy away from the heavily processed foods altogether.

"What if I brought in something he likes? Do you think he'd eat that?"

"_It's worth a try. Anything you can get into him at this point will only help. What time are you coming by?"_

"I have a few things I have to finish up here, so an hour, maybe two."

_"Great. I'll let him know. I should still be around too. There're a few things I'd like to run by you."_

"Good. So I'll see you then. Thanks for giving me a call back – I think I can actually concentrate on my work now."

_"No problem. I'll see you in a bit. Bye, Pete."_

"Goodbye." He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. A wide grin appeared on his face as he imagined the gapes and gawks of the hospital staff as they learned of MacGyver's feat. He was definitely a resourceful young man, especially when it came to helping others.

_It just goes to show… _Pete thought, turning back to his computer to finish up some paperwork. _You can take a troubleshooter of his element, but you can't keep him from finding problems to solve and women to charm._

*


	10. Chapter 10

"Knock, knock! Anyone home?"

Hearing Pete's lively call from outside his door made MacGyver groan and flip the covers over his head. He wasn't in the mood for company, especially the kind that would insist on cheering him up. He was tired, worn out from his exploits of the night before, and his body craved sleep. He wanted to be left alone, something he knew his friend would have a hard time accepting.

The door opened. "You awake?"

"Nope."

"Come on, Mac, you've been asleep all day," Pete said, entering the room despite the cold shoulder he was getting. He set down the paper bag he was carrying and looked at the formless lump on the bed. "You do realize it's after six. Aren't you going to get up at all today?"

He heard a muffled grumble come from beneath the blankets and grinned. "You know, Michael used to sound just like that when he didn't want to get up for school," he said, taking a seat. "I remember this one time he was so determined to stay in bed, I had to resort to dumping ice water over his head. He was so mad – he didn't speak to me for days. Of course I caught hell from his mother for getting the bed wet." He chuckled at the memory. "The look on his face was worth it though."

There was no acknowledgment from the mound in the bed.

"Boy, Ferris was right when she said you were grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy," came the sullen reply.

"Could've fooled me."

The lump began to move as MacGyver rolled over and pulled the blankets away from his head. Pete was surprised by how drained he looked despite his day of hibernation, the skin beneath his eyes puffy and dark.

"I'm just frustrated, that's all."

Pete thought he already knew the answer, but decided to ask anyway. "About what?"

"This," Mac muttered, gesturing to the small room around him.

"You're getting out Friday."

"I _should _be getting out tomorrow."

"Well, you had a minor setback." He'd known the moment Ferris told him about keeping MacGyver an additional day wouldn't ride well with the younger man. "Franklin and Ferris want you to stay the extra day just to make sure you're really all right."

Mac grunted. "I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Insatiably tired, and that's not like you. You're still healing, Mac. You need to take things slow."

"All I did was fish a ring out a drain trap," he said, disgusted with himself.

"I know. Ferris told me."

"It's not like I ran ten miles cross country to intercept a bomb."

"But you just had…"

"Surgery. I know. Everyone keeps reminding me of that." MacGyver sighed and turned his focus to the plain ceiling. "I don't like being limited in anyway. I _need _to be in motion. Being told to 'lay low' and 'take it easy' just doesn't work for me."

"Don't get me wrong – what you did for that nurse was a noble gesture – but sometimes you just have to lookout for number one and let others take care of themselves. Good Knight MacGyver doesn't have to rescue every damsel in distress."

Mac shot him an irritated look but said nothing.

"Ferris also said you haven't eaten all day. What's up with that?"

"I'm not hungry."

Pete leaned down and retrieved the bag he'd brought. "What if you had something you liked – would you eat then?"

"Probably not…"

It became obvious the older man wasn't going to take no for an answer as he opened the bag and removed a smaller one made of waxed paper. He set it on the bed.

"What is it?"

"Take a look," he said, watching him expectantly.

Mac accepted the bag and peered inside, discovering the biggest blueberry muffin he'd ever seen. "Wow."

"I found it at that new coffee shop a few blocks from the Foundation. I know it's not standard dinner fare, but Ferris said it was fine. I also got you some fruit and a few rolls to go with it if you'd like."

"This is good for now, thanks" Mac replied, pulling off a chunk of the muffin and putting it in his mouth. The oversized pastry was loaded with blueberries and tasted great, but it was still a chore to eat. His body wanted rest, not food – a reality that seemed to be lost on Pete.

"You missed an interesting meeting today," Pete began, settling back in his chair. "Well, that's not quite true – the meeting itself would have bored you to tears – but while we were waiting for things to start, Wes Dempsey from Research and Development started complaining about…"

MacGyver sighed and picked unenthusiastically at his muffin. He tried to listen, but inevitably tuned Pete out. It wasn't that he didn't care about what his friend had to say – he just wasn't in the mood for social visits or complicated stories.

"…I've never seen anyone turn to so red in my life," Pete chuckled, his recount ending several minutes later. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Willis wanted me to tell you we had a high priority hit on the new software last night."

"Really?"

"He said the signature was well coded, but still feels sure it was the "Hack-a-Mattack" guy based on the files he tried to access. He's been on the phone with the private agency that's tracking him for most of the day. They've placed him somewhere upstate. Apparently he's been using multiple computers to do his work, and several of them are in areas of public access."

"Sounds like the press release worked," Mac replied, closing the bakery bag and setting it aside. He was less than a quarter of the way through the muffin, but was already feeling full.

"It worked very well. In fact, if this does turn out to be "Hack-a-Mattack" and the program successfully pinpoints his location, the security agency said they'd be interested in purchasing several copies from us to use on future cases."

"Nice."

There was a knock at the door.

"Hey, guys, how's everything going?" Ferris asked, entering the small room.

"It's going good," Pete answered. "Mac even had some of the muffin I brought him."

"Terrific." She offered a kind smile to the young troubleshooter. "Hopefully we can get some real food into you tomorrow and get you home in time for the weekend." He still looked tired, but she was glad to see some of the gloom had left his eyes.

"Are you heading out?" Pete asked, nodding toward the jacket she had over her shoulder.

"I am. I just wanted to stop by to see how things were going and let you know I'll be a little late coming in tomorrow. Dr. Griffin will be here in the morning doing rounds, and it's likely he'll have a small group of med students with him."

"Great…" Mac grumbled under his breath.

"It's one of the inconveniences of being a teaching hospital," she said, sympathizing with her patient. "But there is a consolation. If tonight goes well and Dr. Griffin clears you in the morning, than Pete will be permitted to take you out for a while."

MacGyver's eyebrows rose in interest. "Out? As in…outside?"

Ferris nodded. "There's a private courtyard off the south wing for patients and guests. It has trees, benches, a fountain – it's really nice out there. It'll give you an opportunity to get some fresh air and sun."

"Sounds great," he agreed.

"Good. I'll leave a note for the morning staff nurse. Just take it easy tonight, and I don't think there'll be a problem getting you cleared."

"In other words, no heroics," Pete said, patting his friend on the arm. He glanced at the clock on the wall and stood. "I should probably be heading out too. It's getting late and you need to rest up for tomorrow." He gathered his things, including the bag from the bakery. "I'll leave this with the front desk in case you want it in the morning."

"Thanks."

"And if you get hungry tonight, please let someone know," Ferris told him. "It's important you keep your strength up, especially where you're going home in a few days."

"Have a good night, Mac. Get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning."

"G'night, Pete."

Ferris quickly fixed his blankets and squeezed his arm. "Sleep tight."

Mac gave her a small wave and watched as they left, shutting the door behind them. Alone at last, he sighed and dropped an arm across his eyes. The prospect of going outside had lifted his spirits some. It wasn't the same as going home, but it would certainly make his extra day of confinement more tolerable.

He shifted onto his side and looked out the window, the colors of the city warm and bright as the early fall sun sunk toward the horizon. Settling against the pillows, Mac shut his eyes and envisioned himself walking the shores of an endless, pristine beach. Within a matter of minutes he was fast asleep, enjoying the feel of the warm dreamscape sand beneath his feet.

*

"…_Jason Cluff was arrested late last night at his Westhaven home in connection with the "Hack-a-Mattack" computer attacks. According to investigators at the Compu-Saf cyber crime detection agency, the 34-year-old program designer has caused nearly two million dollars in losses and damages to small businesses all over the state. Cluff has been under scrutiny for several weeks by the private agency, but was not formally charged with the crimes until he was caught attempting to access personnel and finance files at the Phoenix Foundation, an independent think tank in downtown Los Angeles. The Foundation just recently equipped its computer network with an experimental anti-hacker program, which aided in locating the suspect and the half dozen computers Cluff allegedly used to commit his crimes…"_

"Willis, you son of a gun, you did it," MacGyver muttered, taking a final bite off the apple he'd been eating and pitching the core into the trashcan across the room. His appetite was still absent, but he'd managed to eat some of the items Pete had brought him the night before. The rest of his breakfast, syrup drenched waffles and a pile of scrambled egg product, were left to congeal on the tray.

Mac looked back at the TV where a young anchorwoman was going over a timeline of the "Hack-a-Mattack" crimes. Sighing, he muted the sound and turned his attention to the view of the Los Angeles skyline outside his window. It was a beautiful day, warm, sunny, and clear, the ideal weather for being outdoors.

The troubleshooter yawned, watching as a flock pigeons flew lithely across the blue sky. He'd been awake since five, taking advantage of the early hours to get cleaned up and refocused after spending an entire day in bed. He was still tired; the burning ache behind his right temple seemed to be sapping most of his strength. He'd woken with chills, but they'd gone away once he started moving around. Despite not feeling himself, Mac was determined to spend some time outside with Pete; certain it would improve the way he felt.

Dr. Griffin and his procession of medical students had already come and gone, taking less than five minutes to assess his progress. MacGyver had been less than impressed by the older physician, who seemed more interested in amazing his students with big words and haughty looks then the actual condition of his patient. Either way, the doctor cleared him for going outside, and now all he had to do was wait for Pete to arrive.

Mac returned his attention to the silent TV. The anchorwoman had moved from the timeline to an interview with a straight-backed, balding man from Compu-Saf. He hit the volume button on the remote.

_"…A motive? Well, we really can't say for certain at this time. Mr. Cluff just arrived at the LAPD station from Westhaven a short time ago, and we won't have a chance to officially interview him until they've done their piece. However if I had to take a guess, I'd have to say greed. Although we have yet to find evidence that he actually embezzled funds from the businesses he hacked, it's fair to say he never found the dollar amounts he was looking for. That may have been the reason he attacked the Phoenix Foundation…"_

"You don't know," MacGyver argued, frowning at the man's ignorant statement.

"…_We've found that some private corporations don't always keep their finances under secure lock and key. Now I'm not saying this is the case with Phoenix, but several other nonprofit organizations were targeted as well. Although I can't give any specific details, we did find evidence of several fake accounts he had created for siphoning money undetected…"_

Mac shook his head. _Give a guy five minutes of airtime and he'll say anything to make himself look smarter than he really is..._

There was a distinct knock at the door.

"Hey, Pete."

"I've got some great…" Pete's words dissolved into a disappointed groan when he saw what was on the screen. "I was hoping to _beat_ that!"

"It's okay, Pete. This guy doesn't know what he's talking about anyway."

"That's Norton. He's the public relations officer for Compu-Saf. He talks big, but he's really just a rented suit."

"He sounds more like a stuffed suit to me. He's gonna get his mouth in trouble if he doesn't watch what he's saying. He's been speculating on potential motives and lax security."

The director sat down. "Have they shown Willis yet?"

"No. Wait – they interviewed Willis?"

"They got a few words out of him. He's been so busy with the technicians from Compu-Saf that he's hard to track down." They watched the broadcast in silence for a few minutes before a familiar face came on the screen.

_"…Please remember this is an experimental program. We just got it installed network wide last week, and I've been working on customizing it for the Foundation's specific needs. The fact that it was able to detect Mr. Cluff's unlawful entry attempt so early in development is very encouraging. Unfortunately we won't know the program's full capabilities until it can be properly put through its paces. I'm awaiting the return of one of my colleagues for that, and I feel quite confident in saying that if he can't find a way past it, nobody will…"_

Pete glanced over at MacGyver, watching as the surprise appeared on his face.

"He's been holding off on the final tests because of me?"

"Because he wants you to do them personally, yes," he replied. "He trusts you to do a thorough job. And so do I."

The troubleshooter sighed and looked up at the TV. They had moved onto the weekend weather report. The "Hack-a-Mattack" hacker was old news.

"That's um…that's really…thanks," he stammered. "I appreciate it, but he didn't have to wait. I don't want to put him behind and jeopardize a contract."

"You're not jeopardizing anything. Willis said he'd wait for you, and that's what he's going to do. Your skills are the best, Mac. If you can't break that system, no one can."

_No pressure there…_ MacGyver thought humbly.

"So, how're you feeling? You still look a little pale."

Mac switched off the TV. "I'm all right. A little tired still, that's all."

"The front desk said Dr. Griffin cleared you to go outside. You feel up to it?"

"Definitely."

"Good. I brought along a chessboard if you'd like to play a few games. That is if you don't mind loosing."

MacGyver raised an eyebrow at his boss's overly confident statement. "Oh, really?"

There was a knock at the door and it opened, admitting a nurse pushing a wheelchair.

"Ready to go out for some air and sun?" she asked. "I hear it's gorgeous out."

"I am," Mac replied. "But not in that."

The nurse smiled patiently. "It's part of the deal, I'm afraid. There's quite a walk between here and the south wing courtyard. Dr. Harper wants you to use the chair so you don't tire yourself out."

Mac turned to Pete for help.

"Hey," he said, putting his hands up. "Don't look at me. If you don't feel like going outside, we can visit in here."

The younger man stared distastefully at the chair.

"Just get in it," Pete said when his friend's deliberation began to drag out. "I know you'd rather walk, but it's a short ride and it'll make Ferris happy."

"But, Pete…"

The director pointed. "Chair!"

Ignoring the look of poorly hidden amusement on the nurse's face, Mac slid off the bed and into the padded chair. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." He snatched the ball cap he'd given him off the nightstand and dropped it on partner's head. "Now, is this so bad?"

MacGyver merely grunted and folded his arms across his chest.

Pete looked to nurse who appeared close to his own age and shrugged. "Kids."

She chuckled. "At least someone has control over him. Come on, I'll give you directions to the courtyard."

Taking the handles of the wheelchair, the director swung MacGyver around and headed toward the door, determined to cheer his brooding friend up.

*

They couldn't have asked for a better day. The air was seasonably warm and fresh, the hazy morning fog that so often choked the city having burnt off shortly after daybreak. The courtyard turned out to be quite charming with its cluster of trees, tables, park benches, and paved paths. It was quiet and private – a discrete haven for patients to enjoy. At the center of the garden stood a large stone fountain, the constant trickle of water adding a natural feel to the already tranquil ambiance.

The two men sat opposite one other at a granite table, a chessboard spread out between them. Pete had his finger on a black rook, trying to decide whether to sacrifice it for a chance at MacGyver's queen. They had each won a game, and were working on the tiebreaker. He suspected Mac had let him win the previous game, having given up several key pieces early on. Chess wasn't the director's strong point, but he still looked forward to the day he beat his friend fair and square.

Unable to forfeit such a powerful piece, Pete left the rook in the corner and moved a pawn instead. Satisfied, he sat back at waited for Mac to make his move. He'd noticed the young troubleshooter had grown more reserved over the last hour, his face having lost some of its earlier color. His focus on the game seemed to be fading as well; his prompt, decisive moves becoming slow and haphazard.

_Maybe he's getting tired… _he thought, watching his friend study the game board. When he still hadn't made a move several minutes later, Pete nudged him under the table with his foot. "MacGyver?"

The younger man looked up, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. "Huh?"

"It's your move."

"Oh. Right," Mac replied, sounding distracted. He looked down at the board and selected his remaining white knight, moving it in the familiar "L-shaped" pattern.

It seemed like a pointless move, but Pete had learned the hard way that every move in chess had a purpose. He suspected Mac was trying to distract him from going after his queen.

_Well it's not going to work this time…_ he thought, going back to his rook and moving it half way across the board. Again he sat back and waited for Mac to make his counter move, but it never came. He seemed to be lost in thought behind his dark sunglasses, his head propped up against his hand. "Mac…"

"Wha – oh! Sorry…" He picked up the same knight and moved it back to its original position.

Pete frowned. _That's odd…I thought for sure he would have captured my rook. Maybe he made a mistake last time?_ He moved another pawn to quickly end his turn. "You're up."

As if running on autopilot, MacGyver selected his knight and remade the same move he had just undone.

"Mac, what's going on?" Pete asked, realizing something was wrong. "You just repeated the same move you undid last time."

"It's nothing," he muttered, though his voice held no conviction.

The director watched him closely for a minute, noticing the fine pain lines on his face for the first time. "Do you feel okay?"

"I'm tired."

"Do you want to go lay down?"

"Yeah." Mac allowed the older man to help him back into the wheelchair without protest. He didn't feel right, and wanted nothing more than to lay down.

"MacGyver?"

He looked up to find Pete standing in front of him. "What?" _Why does he sound so worried?_

"I asked what was wrong."

"My head hurts. I'm cold. Achy." He felt something wrap around his shoulders. It was Pete's jacket. He pulled the light material tight against his body and sighed.

"Just sit tight, Mac. I'll get you back upstairs in no time." Turning the chair as not to jar his friend, Pete quickly walked up the path and back toward the building, trying to ignore the cold knot of apprehension forming in his stomach.


	11. Chapter 11

Ferris was on the phone at the nurses' station when she saw Pete and MacGyver exit the elevator. She grinned, knowing the troubleshooter would probably have a few things to say about being made to use a wheelchair. It wasn't until they drew closer that she realized something was wrong, her smile fading when she saw the current state of her patient.

"I'll have to call you back," she said, hanging up the phone and hurrying around the counter to meet them. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know. He seemed fine until a half hour ago," Pete explained, worry clearly evident on his face. "I think it's his head."

It was obvious the young man didn't feel well. Draped in his friend's jacket, Mac sat slumped over with his arms wrapped tightly around his body. His face had gone a ghostly shade of white, and a slight tremor shook his lean frame.

Ferris gently removed his sunglasses and placed her hand against his cheek, the warmth of his skin making her cringe. "Don't feel good, do you sweetie?"

"Not really," he uttered quietly.

"Is your head bothering you?" she asked, dropping her hand to his wrist to time his pulse. It was strong, but fast; too fast for her liking.

Mac nodded and shut his eyes, the bright lights making the pain worse.

"All right," she said, motioning to a male nurse behind the counter. "Let's get you back into bed."

Even with the wheelchair parked as close to the bed as possible, Mac still needed help getting into it. The mattress he'd found so uncomfortable had become heavenly, the plush material cushioning his sore, achy body. Chilled from the air conditioner, he welcomed the blankets Ferris pulled up over his shivering form.

"I'm going to look him over and draw some blood. I want to get his basic counts and start a blood culture. Doing it now will save time and the results could help us later on," Ferris said to the nurse. "And grab an I/V kit too. I'd like to get him back on fluids."

Having received his instructions, the nurse left with wheelchair in tow.

Ferris went to the sink and began washing her hands, already compiling a list of possible causes for her patient's sudden symptoms. An infection was the most likely culprit, but where and to what extent would make all the difference.

_I hope to god this is something simple…_ she thought, bumping off the water with her elbow and drying her hands. _He was doing so well…what went wrong?_

"You said he was fine until about half an hour ago?"

"As far as I could tell he was," Pete replied, not leaving his friend's side. "I mean he was quiet and a little pale, but he seemed ok. Plus the morning doctor had already cleared him, so I assumed he was fine. I guess I should have paid more attention to how he was acting."

"Don't blame yourself," she said, taking her stethoscope from around her neck and plugging it into her ears. "I shouldn't have left the decision to allow him outside to another physician. Especially one unfamiliar with his case."

She slipped the metal disk beneath the blankets to listen to Mac's heart and breathing. Both rates were noticeably elevated, but his heart was strong and his lungs clear. His blood pressure was up, as was his temperature, the aural thermometer giving a shrill beep to warn of a mid-grade fever.

"What do you think it is?"

"Probably an infection," she said, pulling on a pair of disposable gloves. "We need to do a couple of tests to determine what kind though." She began to unwrap the protective bandage around MacGyver's head.

Startled from his doze, he jerked away with a groan when her fingertips lightly brushed the incision site.

"I'm sorry, Mac," she apologized, troubled by the amount of pain such a light touch had caused. "I'll be more careful."

Being as gentle as she could, she finished removing the bandage, grimacing when she saw the source of his discomfort. The healthy, healing surgical wound she had seen the day before had become angry, red, and very inflamed. "Oh, yeah, this isn't good."

"How in god's name did the morning doctor miss that?" Pete demanded, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Ferris shook her head, feeling even more at fault than before. "I don't know."

"He never checked," Mac uttered, flinching as the doctor felt around the wound to see how far the swelling had spread. "He just asked me a few questions and read the chart. At the time I wasn't feeling that bad, so he had no reason to suspect anything."

Pete's face flushed with anger. "It's still unacceptable."

"It's also a shirk in procedure. I'm going to report this to the hospital supervisor. This isn't the first time Dr. Griffin has _missed_ something." Ferris looked at the infected wound and sighed. "MacGyver, I'm sorry, but I really need to clean this out."

The troubleshooter pulled a face and shut his eyes, not needing to be told how unpleasant it was going to be.

"I'll be as quick as I can," she assured, although she knew it came as little consolation. "And then we'll let you rest."

The nurse arrived with the items she'd requested and was quickly sent out for more. While waiting for him to return, Ferris drew off several vials of blood and began prepping his arm for an I/V.

"You're doing better than I would be, Mac," Pete said honestly, flinching enough for both of them as he watched Ferris slide the needle in place.

"He's a trooper," she agreed, securing the catheter with tape and joining it to the drip line overhead.

The nurse returned a few minutes later, a sterile cloth covered tray in his hands.

Ferris went to the sink to wash her hands again. "Pete, you don't have to stay for this if it'll make you uncomfortable."

Pete felt Mac's unnaturally warm hand close over his own in an unspoken request for him to remain. He knew MacGyver was a proud man, stubborn, strong, and independent. Asking for help for himself had never come easy, and the fact he was doing it now was an affirmation of their friendship.

"I'll stay," he said.

Ferris smiled. She knew the two men shared a close bond: more like a father and son than a boss and subordinate. She'd learned from experience that a strong support system often meant the difference between recovery and failure when it came to success in the medical world. Having observed the silent communication between the two men, she had no doubt as to the potential strength they could offer one another.

The cleaning and re-bandaging of MacGyver's incision was far from pleasant. Despite the doctor's best efforts to be gentle, the pain was bad, and the procedure left him shaking and soaked with sweat. Pete remained by his side, allowing his hand to be squeezed and crushed without complaint. By the time she was finished, both men were exhausted.

"There," Ferris said, using a damp cloth to mop the sweat from her patient's face and neck. "You made it. You're done."

Mac released the breath he'd been holding and sagged against the pillows. He'd experienced worse, but it certainly wasn't something he wanted to go through again. He closed his eyes and focused on slowing down his racing body.

"Did it look as bad as you thought?" Pete asked.

"Yes and no. There's a lot of swelling and heat, but the wound's not draining. That may or may not create a problem down the road." She retrieved two syringes from the instrument tray that she'd prepared earlier. "I'm giving him something to help his fever, plus a dose of antibiotic. We may need to change the type later on, but I at least want to get him started in the right direction."

She administered both drugs through his I/V. "Best thing for him to do now is rest."

The director sighed and stood reluctantly from his chair. Visiting time was over. "I've got to go, Mac. I'll be back later on, I promise."

"Pete?"

"You need to rest – and you can't do that with me hovering around."

Mac's expression turned doubtful. "Pete, I'm…"

"Ah! Don't say it," Pete said firmly, speaking as much for his own sake as he was for MacGyver's. "You're going to be all right. This is just a little setback, that's all. We'll get through this. One day – one step at a time. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, regarding him through a fevered gaze. "Whatever you say, boss."

Pete smiled and patted his arm. "Atta boy. Now go to sleep and feel better. I'll come by and check on you in a bit."

Mac nodded and rolled onto his side, curling up against the deep ache that had settled into his bones.

"Poor kid," Pete muttered, joining Ferris by the door. "I haven't seen him this sick for… well…ever, actually."

"If it gets too bad I can give him something for the pain, but I prefer to hold off on that as long as possible," she replied, not having the heart to tell him that things had the potential to get much worse before they got better. _If they got better…_

"He's not going home tomorrow, is he?"

"No. We'll see how he does over the weekend. If things go well, he might be out by Monday or Tuesday, but probably not until midweek or so." She saw the disappointment in his eyes squeezed his arm. "This is just a setback," she said, repeating his own words back to him. "One day – one step at a time, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"I thought you might." Ferris smiled. "Come on. I'll get you some coffee."

Following the petite doctor out of the room, he stopped for a moment and looked back at his friend. Satisfied to find him sleeping, Pete quietly shut the door and left, completely unaware of the trouble brewing just below the surface.

*

The morning routine of the ICU was eerily quiet in comparison to that of the Oncology ward. There were no TVs, radios, or healing spells of laughter. Just the ominous sounds of tolling monitoring equipment, hushed voices, and the occasional call for attention filled the halls of glass fronted private rooms.

Ferris had never liked working out of the intensive care unit, finding it too quiet and too depressing. Although many of the patients treated on the ward recovered and moved on, some did not. Others improved, but never fully healed, their bodies and minds changed forever. She'd been lucky during her relatively short career as a doctor, only having lost a handful of patients to their afflictions. Every time unforeseen circumstances forced her to admit a charge to the unit, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer that luck would hold out.

A quiet groan from the bed alerted Ferris to her patient's distress. She turned to find MacGyver trying to move onto his side, a feat made impossible by the extra monitoring equipment he now wore. The evening doctor had admitted him to the ICU shortly after midnight when his temperature sharply rose and he began vomiting, warning signs of an infection raging out of control. Franklin had given her the discouraging news when she'd arrived that morning, and she'd been at the troubleshooter's side ever since.

"Easy, Mac," she said, gently holding him in place. He struggled weakly against her hand before his strength gave out, an arm sliding down to hold his stomach.

A nurse stuck her head in the door. "Is everything all right, Dr. Harper?"

"It looks like his nausea is returning. I'd like to get another dose of compazine into him."

"I'll be right back," the nurse said and disappeared to fetch the drug.

"Ferris?"

The doctor found glassy brown eyes looking up at her and smiled. "Hey, Mac," she greeted, taking his hand and giving it squeeze. They had removed the plaster cast from his arm and replaced it with a soft splint, the material allowing his fevered skin to breath. "I've got something coming to help your stomach, okay? You're going to be all right."

"Where's Pete?"

"He's not here yet, it's still a little early. He will be soon."

Mac nodded and swallowed compulsively, his queasiness starting to build again.

Reading his discomfort, Ferris brought the emesis basin within reach. His stomach was empty, but the nausea continued, causing bouts of dry heaves that left him exhausted and sore. She knew there wasn't much they could do for him at this point except give support and treat his symptoms. The antibiotics needed a chance to work, and until they did, it was going to be a very rough ride.

The nurse returned and administered the anti-nausea drug the doctor had ordered. "The desk also wanted me to let you know that Mr. Thornton is on his way down."

"Thank you."

"Pete's here?" MacGyver asked, the medication already making him drowsy.

"He is," she replied. "I need to talk to him first and then he'll be in. He won't be able to stay long because you need to rest, but we'll definitely let him come say hi. How's your stomach feeling? Any better?"

"A little."

"Good. The compazine is starting to work. Are you going to be okay by yourself for a bit?"

"I think so."

"All right. I'll be back." Ferris stepped out of the room and headed for the nurses' station. She found Pete already there and waiting, the older man visibly keyed up and anxious about his friend. "Morning, Pete."

"Ferris – what happened? The nurse up on the other floor sent me here – she said Mac is worse. What…?"

The doctor motioned for him to follow and led the way into one of the private offices. "Have a seat," she said, although wasn't surprised when he didn't. She sighed and sat down herself, unsure where to begin. "Late last night, MacGyver became very sick. His fever spiked, and he began showing signs of shock. The evening physician made the decision to admit him to the ICU when they couldn't get him stabilized."

He looked dumbfounded. "I don't understand. I mean he wasn't feeling that great when I came to see him last night, but he wasn't…" He shook his head. "What happened?"

"Pete, MacGyver has a staph infection. The lab results came back this morning."

"What?"

"We'll have to wait another 12 to 24 hours for the blood culture results to come back to know the exact strain, but he's been started on a vigorous course of antibiotics to try and slow its progress," she explained. "Dr. Brock Aspen has been put in charge of his case, and he…"

"Wait, wait. I thought you and Franklin were in charge of Mac?"

"Franklin and I are in charge of his neurological health. As far as his infection is concerned, Dr. Aspen is a much better candidate for treating it successfully. You're still going to see us around, though, especially since the infection seems to have originated around his surgical incision."

Pete numbly sought out a chair and sat down, his face a mixture of emotions. "This Dr. Aspen – he thinks Mac will be all right?"

"It's too early to make a definite prognosis, but where MacGyver is young, strong, and generally healthy, Dr. Aspen is cautiously optimistic at this point. "

"This is more than just a setback."

Ferris nodded soberly in agreement. "Yes, it is."

Pete sighed and looked down at his hands. "Can I see him?"

"You can, but the rules down here are a little different. You'll be limited to two, fifteen visits a day until Dr. Aspen feels Mac's strong enough for more." She saw the disappointment on his face. "He's very sick right now, Pete. And until the antibiotics start working, he has the potential to keep getting worse."

"And here I thought I was taking him home today."

"He'd like to see you, Pete," Ferris said. "He's been asking for you. Short visits are tough, but he needs your support now more than ever."

He stood and joined her at the door. "Take me to him. Any amount of time is better than nothing."

The doctor smiled and led the way to MacGyver's room. "I know this is tough, and believe it or not, _I_ have a difficult time in this place too. It's hard to stay positive, but please try to for Mac's sake. When you're physically feeling down and out, a positive attitude can take you a long way."

The director nodded. _She's right…this _is_ hard._

"I'll be out here if you need me," she said and stepped back to allow him entry to the room.

"Thanks." The first thing Pete felt when he entered his friend's room was depressed. Smaller than his original room, the tight space was sterile and bare with its pure white walls and lack of windows. Machinery filled much of the space around and near the bed, some sitting not in use, while others blinked like Christmas trees.

He arrived at Mac's side with his heart in his throat, the younger man surrounded by a confusing web of leads and lines. His pale face of the previous day had gone gray except for the dark patches beneath his closed eyes. Deep pain lines etched his fevered skin, an occasional bead of sweat rolling off onto the pillow. Multiple bags of clear fluid rained a steady stream toward the I/V catheters below, and a heart monitor quietly tolled in the background.

"You look miserable, my friend," he uttered.

"I feel terrible."

Pete hardly recognized his colleague's voice, its strength and confidence replaced by weakness. He reached out and took Mac's hand, his skin feeling uncomfortably warm against his own. "I'm sorry, MacGyver," he said, unsure what else to say. _Ferris said stay positive, but how is that possible when your friend looks like he's…_

He sighed and asked the first question that came to mind. "Are they treating you good?"

"Yeah. Service is fast and some of the nurses are kinda cute."

"Is that so?" Pete chuckled; glad to see his friend's sense of humor was still intact. "Well, get a few numbers and we'll go out for drinks when you're back on your feet."

"You mean _if_ I get back on my feet."

"I don't want to hear stuff that, MacGyver. I know you're feeling pretty rotten right now, but in a few days things are going to be better. You've got a great team of doctors and modern medicine on your side working to beat back your infection. And I'm pulling for you too."

Mac shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, his muscles aching no matter how he lay. "Ferris said your time was limited."

"Per the orders of Dr. Aspen. They'll extend your visiting hours when you're feeling better. In the mean time, you can always call me if you get too bored."

"That might just happen around here." Mac replied sleepily, the simple act of talking rapidly depleting the little energy he had.

Pete saw his friend starting to nod off. "I'll let you rest."

"No. You can stay," MacGyver said, opening his eyes with effort. "Please. I don't mind, I'm just…Stay."

_He's scared…_Pete realized, although it wasn't a word he generally associated with the troubleshooter. _Hell, if I were in his position, I'd be terrified. _He looked around and spotted a plastic chair tucked in the corner.

"Pete?"

"I'm staying – I'm just getting a chair." He brought it over beside the bed and sat down. "There. That's better. I'll stay as long as they let me. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah – thanks."

"No problem. Now go to sleep. Everything's going to be all right." He watched as MacGyver shut his eyes and tried to get comfortable beneath the light blankets. He would have gladly sat with the younger man day and night if meant his recovery, but he knew such thinking wasn't plausible or reasonable.

Sighing, Pete looked around the room at the pieces of cold machinery meant to maintain, monitor, and regulate human life. _Oh yeah…_ he thought miserably. _Everything's going to be just fine…_

*

"You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me!"

"Pete, please calm down and listen…" Ferris began.

"No! I left here last night and Dr. Aspen said everything looked the same."

"And it _did_! And it pretty much _still _does, but the lab results for his blood culture came back and now we know _exactly _what we're dealing with."

"First you tell me he's got a staph infection, and now you say he's got some super bug?"

"He _does_ has a staph infection, it's just a different strain then Dr. Aspen first thought." Ferris sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, her frustration starting to build into a headache. "Look, just sit down and listen. Please. I'll tell you what I know and then answer your questions if I can. All right?"

Pete scowled, but did as the petite doctor asked. He was more upset than angry, and quickly becoming more frightened than upset. "Okay. What?"

"As I said before, the lab results for MacGyver's blood culture came back this morning as being positive for methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, or MRSA. It's a type of staph bacteria that's become resistant to many of the commonly used antibiotics – hence the nickname 'super bug.'"

"Such infections can be fatal, but they can also be successfully treated with the right medication. Dr. Aspen has switched Mac over to an antibiotic called Vancomycin, which is used primarily to fight MRSA infections. It's not an instant fix, and it'll probably make him feel even worse for the first few days while his body adjusts." She stopped and looked at the man seated across from her, trying to judge his reaction. Although his face was blank, she could tell he was listening and taking in all she had to say. "Do you have any questions?"

"Where did it come from?"

"We're still looking into it. His room has been stripped and thoroughly cleaned – so far there hasn't been signs of bacteria on any of the contact surfaces. It is possible that it came from one of the nurses during a bandage change. Unfortunately, we may never know for sure."

"It had nothing to do with that ring he fished out of the sink, did it?" he asked.

"No. Even if the sink were harboring the bacteria, the infection wouldn't have developed that quickly. The energy he expended in the process, however, likely contributed to its rapid onset."

"How long before you know if this new medication is working?"

"Probably a few days. Vancomycin is like any other antibiotic in the sense that it needs time to circulate and establish itself within the body."

"I suppose visitation will be cut back even more."

Ferris shook her head. "Dr. Aspen didn't say anything about that. The only difference now is you'll be asked to wear protective clothing and gloves when you visit. A secondary infection at this point – even something as simple as a cold – could be fatal."

The room fell silent, Pete lost in thought. He had so much going through his mind at once, he didn't know what to respond to first.

"He's in the best place right now," Ferris said, seeing the indecision on his face. "The staff is well trained, compassionate, and devoted to their work. He'll be watched like a hawk and kept as comfortable as possible. Anytime you want to know how he's doing, just give the ward a call and they'll be happy to tell you."

"I'd rather be here _with_ him."

"I know you would, but for now you need to make the best of the time you _do_ have. Keep things light and positive – a laugh never hurts." She gestured toward the door. "Come on. I'll get you some scrubs and you can go sit with him for a while. I think it'll be good for both of you."

With a heavy heart, Pete got to his feet and followed her out of the office, hoping some time with his friend would lift his spirits rather then diminishing them even more.


	12. Chapter 12

Pete stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would take him to the ICU. As the doors slid closed, he got a glimpse of himself in their mirror-like finish. His posture was rigid and his expression grim. As much as he was looking forward to seeing MacGyver, he was dreading it too. He'd left a very sick man behind the day before, and he was concerned how he'd faired overnight. Compounding his stress even more was the final budget meeting later that day, when he would finally learn what his department's budget for the year would be.

The elevator gradually slowed and came to a stop, the doors sliding open to liberate its passenger. Pete stepped out into the antiseptic smelling hall, his shoes clicking noisily on the glossy linoleum floor.

"Can I help you, sir?" a nurse behind the central counter asked when he approached.

"Yes, I'm here to see MacGyver."

The nurse's polite smile immediately turned empathic. "You must be Mr. Thornton?"

"I'm Pete, yes," he replied. "Is everything all right?"

The nurse held up her finger for him to wait and picked up the phone. After a brief conversation she hung up, the polite smile back on her face. "You can head down to the dressing rooms and change into some scrubs. Dr. Aspen will meet you in Mr. MacGyver's room in a few minutes."

"Dr. Aspen? Ferris isn't around?"

"Dr. Harper will be in later this afternoon. She had some other business to attend to this morning."

"Oh," Pete uttered, slightly disappointed. "All right. Thank you."

_Now what?_ He thought, heading for the changing room. He selected a pair of scrubs from the piles on the shelf and closed himself in an empty stall. He sat down and began to work the teal material over his pants. Pete smiled as he recalled the look on his friend's face when he first saw him clad in the oversized garments. He'd never seen anyone go from confusion, to surprise, to amusement as quickly as Mac had the previous morning. Although weak, the younger man had grinned and said it was way too soon to be trying on Halloween costumes.

_Smart aleck…I guess Ferris was right – a laugh never hurts. If Mac can keep his sense of humor about him, he might just come through this all right... _

The director stood and pulled on the scrub top, his thoughts going back to his visit the night before. MacGyver had been restless, the affects of a high fever and bad headache keeping him from getting any real sleep. The ICU staff did their best to keep him comfortable, but he was exhausted, cranky, and in no mood to be fussed over by anyone.

In an attempt to offer the ailing man some comfort, Dr. Aspen had permitted Pete to remain at his side while he underwent the second infusion of antibiotics. During the hour-long process, they'd talked about everything from sports and music to work and weather. Although he hid it well, Mac's distress steadily rose. Aspen finally elected to administer a sedative to help him get the rest he so badly needed.

_And by the sound of things, today's not going to be much better…_ Finished dressing, Pete left the changing stall and made the short journey to Mac's room. Posted on the door was a sign reading: "PROTECTIVE CLOTHES/MASK/ GLOVES REQUIRED UPON ENTRY." He collected a mask from the wall dispenser and tied it into place, the paper rough against his nose. Bracing himself for the worst, he quietly let himself into the room.

Pete sensed a change as soon as he stepped through the door. Although he couldn't put into words, he knew something was different. Something was off. He quickly washed his hands at the sink and pulled on a pair of gloves, anxious to find the cause of his unrest.

"Mac?" Normally his approach and call was enough to rouse the younger man from his doze, but today it got no response at all. MacGyver was asleep, his pale face partially hidden by a clouded oxygen mask. His breathing had become noticeably labored, and his flushed skin shone with perspiration in the dim light.

"Mac…" Pete uttered. He reached under the special cooling blanket and took his hand, the thin gloves doing nothing to hide the intense heat and slight tremor that shook his weakened body. "I'm sorry, kid. I really am."

"Pete?"

The director cocked his head, unsure if he'd heard his friend speak or not. "MacGyver?"

"Pete. You here?"

"Yeah, Mac. Yeah, I'm here," he replied. "I'm right here. How're you doing, kiddo?"

"Sick." Came the whispered reply, the troubleshooter never opening his eyes.

"Yes, you are. You're very sick. You have an infection that's not responding well to medication. But they're trying something new – something that will help. You just have to hold on a little longer – can you do that?"

"Trying…it's hard."

"I know. I'm having a rough time with it too."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything. I didn't mean…I'm sorry I…" Pain flashed across the younger man's face and several of the monitors gave a warning shriek.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," Pete soothed. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You've done nothing wrong. You're sick, that's all. But you're going to get better."

"My head hurts. I'm so tired."

"Go back to sleep, Mac. It's the best thing you can do right now, okay?"

MacGyver nodded once and fell silent, claimed by exhaustion once again.

Pete frowned. He felt powerless to help his friend and it frustrated him to no end. "We'll get you through this MacGyver," he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "You're going to be all right."

The door opened and Dr. Aspen breezed into the room. "Good morning, Mr. Thornton," he greeted, looking just as alert and ready to go as he had at seven o'clock the previous evening.

"Morning, doctor," Pete said, not bothering to correct the formal greeting. Brock Aspen was a nice enough person, but there was something about him the director just didn't like. He had an air of cockiness that new doctors flaunted and seasoned ones exuded. His credentials boasted top marks, yet he hardly looked old enough to shave.

Pete supposed he was just being overly critical. After all, Ferris was quite young herself and he had no ill feelings towards her or her ability to do her job. There was just something different between the two doctors that he couldn't put his finger on.

"I see you've discovered our latest set back," he said, taking a moment to compare the numbers displayed on the monitors to the ones written on the chart.

"What happened exactly?"

"Late last night Mr. MacGyver's fever abruptly rose. We used medication to bring his temperature down to an acceptable range, but it's been a constant battle to keep it there ever since."

"So he's getting worse." It wasn't a question, but the doctor took it as one.

"As expected, yes." Aspen donned his stethoscope and listened to his patient's breathing, his brow deepening with concern. "Until the antibiotics start to work, the infection will continue to worsen and spread."

This was new information. "Spread?"

"Staph has a tendency to move around once it gets in the body. It can hole up in any number of places, such as the lungs, joints, or even the blood stream itself. When such localization occurs, people often develop other issues ranging from simple skin irritations to acute conditions like pneumonia or sepsis."

"Is Mac?"

Aspen hesitated. "I'm a little concerned with the way his lungs are starting to sound, but where he's already 24 hours into treatment, I'm fairly confident that it won't progress much further than it has."

The young doctor's assurance didn't make Pete feel any better. "He said he has a headache."

"He was awake?" Aspen seemed surprised. "The medication he's on should be controlling the worst of his pain. Since his surgical incision is where the infection originated, it's understandable that it would be sensitive."

"I just wish there was something more I could do to help him…" Pete muttered, feeling as though his hands were tied.

"Rest is the best thing for him right now, and it's something he can't do efficiently with someone anxiously hanging over him."

Pete raised an eyebrow. _Subtly isn't a word in your vocabulary, is it, young man? _Aspen was right, of course, but it was certainly no way to tell a concerned friend that they needed to leave. All at once, he knew what it was he didn't like about the doctor standing across from him.

He gave Mac's arm a final pat. "I've got to go, MacGyver. Duty calls and the big boss is waiting. Get some sleep, and I'll be back to see you tonight." He turned to leave.

"If we clear it."

Pete felt his face flush with anger, but he held his tongue. He made it all the way to the door before turning back, unable to let the brash young man have the last word. "You did real good in college, didn't you?"

"I carried a 4.0 average in every class." Aspen beamed. "Why do you ask?"

"Because for someone who knows so much about the human body, you know nothing about people." Feeling better for having spoken his mind, Pete pushed open the door and left.

*

Ferris looked up from her pile of paperwork when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. On the other side of the room, MacGyver shifted weakly beneath the cooling blanket. She stood and went to his side, glancing at the monitors as she went.

"Easy sweetie," she soothed, the young man groaning when she rested her gloved hand against his face. "You're just burning up, aren't you?" She retrieved a cloth from its dish of water on the nightstand and passed it across his skin, the sharp difference in temperature making him jump.

"I'm sorry," he uttered, trying to move away from her touch. "Sorry…"

"You're okay, Mac," Ferris said, wondering what twisted images his fevered mind was showing him. "You're going to be fine."

"I couldn't…I'm sorry…"

"Shh…sleep."

"I'm sorry…I'm just…so sorry…mom…"

_Mom_…The single word made her blood run cold. Pete had filled her in on MacGyver's family history when she was collecting information to help diagnose his initial problem. She'd been shaken to hear how his parents died, and how he'd never forgiven himself for not being there for his mother.

"Mom…sorry…"

"Shh, Mac, it's all right." She reached beneath the cooling blanket and took his hand, his shaking fingers closing weakly around her own. "It's not your fault, okay? It's not your fault."

She watched as he struggled against the unseen demons, his expression an open window to his pain. Passing her thumb across his knuckles, she spoke quietly, encouraging him to calm down and go to sleep. After several minutes, his eyes partially opened and he looked at her with glassy, blurred vision.

"Mac?" Ferris asked, not sure if he was seeing her, his mother, or anything at all.

"I'm sorry…I didn't…I couldn't…"

"It's okay, sweetie. I understand. It wasn't your fault." Her words seemed to be hitting home as she felt him start to relax. "I want you to go back to sleep now. You're sick and you need to rest. Everything's going to be fine."

He pulled in a labored breath of air and shut his eyes, his delirium eased for the moment.

Ferris wiped the last of the sweat from his face and neck before returning to her seat. She sighed deeply, having forgotten how draining the ICU could be. The ward staff were specially trained to deal with the emotional roller coaster that came with working among the critically ill. Although technically out of her league, she felt obligated to stick by this particular patient, both as a fellow Foundation coworker and a newfound friend.

The door opened and admitted Grace Miller, one of the ICU's veteran physicians. "You _are_ still here," she said incredulously, going to the sink to wash her hands. "It's so late, I didn't believe the front desk when they told me you were. Didn't Franklin say you turned into a pumpkin after nine?"

Ferris smiled beneath her mask. "I do occasionally stay out after dark." She was glad to see the older woman on duty, particularly after Pete told her about the run in he'd had with Brock Aspen earlier that morning. "MacGyver's had a pretty rough day. I thought he could use a little extra support."

"Looks like he's still having a rough time," Miller replied, settling her stethoscope into her ears. "How long has his breathing been this labored?"

"Most of the day. According to his chart, he's been slowly deteriorating since his fever spiked about 24 hours ago."

"Have they done any x-rays?"

"No – Aspen hasn't order any."

Miller frowned, her attention on the sounds coming through her stethoscope. "It probably wouldn't hurt to do a chest series," she said a moment later. "Where he's fighting staph, there's a chance he could be in the early stages of pneumonia." The doctor went back to her exam. "How's his head doing?"

"It's hard to say. Pete told me he woke for a short period this morning and said his head hurt. There's still a lot of swelling around the incision, but there's been no sign of drainage. I spoke with Franklin and he scheduled a MRI for tomorrow in case there's no improvement overnight."

"Let me guess: Brock doesn't agree."

"He feels the antibiotics will take care of everything if given enough time."

The seasoned doctor shook her head. "Mr. Aspen needs to put down his clinical research and learn to listen to what his gut is telling. Antibiotics can't fight an infection effectively if the source isn't dealt with first. Does Franklin think he might be starting to abscess?"

"Or that a bone fragment got left behind and is causing irritation. The pain could very well be from the infection, but he wants to be sure."

"Poor man," Miller uttered, giving MacGyver's arm a comforting pat. "Do you have his file?"

"I do."

The older woman took the manila folder and fanned it open, looking over the past few days' worth of records. "So he's handling the Vancomycin okay?"

"Seems to be so far. The side effects are unpleasant and he's got some localized irritation at the infusion site, but he hasn't complained."

"Well, we should know within the next day or so if it's going…"

The room abruptly filled with the piercing shriek of machinery as MacGyver began to seize.

Uttering a curse, Ferris flew across the room with the other doctor close behind. "Let's get him on his side."

"I thought he was on an anticonvulsant?" Miller asked, removing the cooling blanket and helping to shift the shuddering man onto his left side.

"He is," she replied, the memory of the convulsion he'd had in her office suddenly fresh in her mind. "He's either starting to swell or it's febrile."

The door swung open and several nurses rushed in, responding to the screaming alarms.

"I need 4mg of lorazepam!" Ferris called over the noise.

The seizure terminated within seconds of the injection, and MacGyver fell still. The team of nurses went to work returning him to his back, clearing his airway, and sorting the tangled web of leads and lines.

"Put a call into radiology," Ferris said, turning to the nearest nurse. "Let them know we'll be bringing him down for an MRI as soon as he's stable enough to move." She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her wrist, and looked at the array of monitors surrounding the bed. Mac's numbers were all off, but it was the nearly 106-degree temperature that concerned her the most. Even if it hadn't been the cause of his seizure, it was still high enough to pose risks, especially if they discovered he required more surgery.

"We need start getting him cooled down," she began, the group of nurses waiting for instruction. "I want him back under the cooling blanket and let's get some ice packed around him too." The team immediately set to work and Ferris joined the other doctor who had been doing her own evaluation of the troubleshooter. "How's he look to you?"

"Very stressed," Miller replied. "He seems to settling down, but I don't think it would take much to set him off again." She paused for a moment, watching as the nurses rearranged the cooling blanket. "You called it right, though. We've got to get that fever down some before he can be moved."

Ferris was glad to have the veteran doctor's approval. She was normally confident in the decisions she made, but this case was presenting her with a difficult challenge and she welcomed the support.

"If he doesn't stabilize within fifteen minutes or so, you may want to consider another dose of lorazepam to help him along."

She nodded in agreement. "I want to keep an extra dose close by anyway in case he seizes again. Until we find out what's going on, it's going to be an ever present risk." Ferris sighed and looked down at her patient, his flushed face etched with pain. She'd discovered early on through Pete and her own observations that MacGyver was a born-fighter. He was determined and clever, always eager to tackle any obstacle put in his path. But now, as she watched him battling an invisible enemy with virtually no weakness, she had to wonder just how far his resolve could carry him before it dried up.

"Grace, I'd like to try to get a hold of Franklin. We may need his services before the night is out. Would you mind staying with Mac for a few minutes?" she asked.

"Not at all," Miller replied. "Take the time you need."

"Thanks." Ferris looked at the vital monitors and frowned at the barely improved numbers they displayed. "Hang in there, MacGyver. I'll be back," she promised, and left to make the call.

*


	13. Chapter 13

Pete opened his eyes stared into the darkness of his bedroom. Except for the soft ticking of his clock, the air was still and quiet, leaving him to wonder what had woken him in the middle of the night. He couldn't recall dreaming, but it was the most likely cause. Between the stress of the budget and MacGyver falling ill, sound sleep had become a rare commodity. And now with the budgetary piece coming to a close, the concern for his friend had nearly taken him over completely.

He looked over at his alarm clock; the red numbers showing it was just after midnight.

_It's too late to call…I hope he's doing all right…_ He thought back to his last visit with his friend. The younger man had been miserable, uncomfortably hot and clearly hurting. He'd sat with him through another antibiotic treatment, watching as the drug and saline mix slowly fed into the line set just below his collarbone. Mac had slept fitfully during the hour-long process, occasionally waking and uttering incomprehensibly before going back to sleep.

The visit's one silver lining was the presence of Ferris and her sympathetic ear. Pete told her about his confrontation with Brock Aspen, and how the young doctor's poor attitude had shattered the confidence he'd had in the man's skills. She'd apologized and said Aspen got his arrogance from his father's legacy. Apparently the son had inherited his father's intelligence, but missed out entirely on his highly revered bedside manner. She agreed he had no business treating people so callously, and believed time, experience, and inevitable failures would eventually humble him.

_Inevitable failures…_ he thought dismally, her words echoing in his mind. As far as medicine was concerned, he could only think of only one. _Don't go there, Pete. It won't do you or Mac any good…_

He'd been reluctant to leave his sick friend behind, wanting to stay close in case something happened. Ferris eventually convinced him it was all right to leave after promising to call if something did go wrong.

The director rolled over and sighed. With no realistic reason to be awake, he closed his eyes and attempted to go back to sleep. He had nearly drifted off when the phone beside his bed began to ring.

Pete felt his stomach clench in anticipation as he reached for the receiver. Calls that came in at such a late hour seldom brought good news. "Hello?"

_"Pete? It's Ferris. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but something's come up."_

He wasn't reassured by the apprehension in her voice. "What's the matter?"

_"MacGyver had another seizure about two hours ago."_

"Oh my god."

_"It was a bad one, but we were able to bring it under control with medication."_

"Is he all right?"

"_He's holding his own for the moment, but things aren't looking good," _Ferris replied in all honesty. _"Mac's developed an abscess beneath his original incision – we found it during an MRI." _

Pete slowly sat up. "An abscess?"

_"I'm afraid so. It's small, but it's causing a lot of pressure to build up around his brain. I called Franklin in and he's decided to try surgically draining it. Hopefully it will alleviate the pressure and allow the antibiotic a chance to work properly,"_ she explained. _"It's a relatively simple procedure, the complications of his infection are going to make it very high risk."_

The director couldn't believe what he was hearing. Hearing MacGyver's initial diagnosis had been hard enough, but then to learn he had an infection and now an abscess – it seemed unreal. Everything seemed to have happened so fast; he wasn't quite sure how best to react.

_"Pete?"_

"I'm here," he replied. "I'm just…so his chances…they're not good?"

_"That's a tough call to make at this point. Yes, he's very sick, but he's also proven himself to be a fighter. I can't promise you anything, but that alone may help him come through."_

"Can I talk to him?"

_"He's already been taken down to prep. Besides, he's not really that coherent right now. Between the after effects of the seizure, his high fever, and the medication, he's pretty out of it. I'm heading down to scrub up after I hang up with you though, and I can give him a message if you'd like," _she offered.

"Yeah – just let him know that I'm thinking about him and not to give up."

_"I can do that."_

"Thanks." It wasn't as good as saying it to him himself, but at least Mac would know there was someone on the outside pulling for him. "How long do you think it'll take?"

_"The procedure? Probably an hour or two. It's not as involved as his first one, so it shouldn't take nearly as long. I can give you a call when we're through."_

He reached out and turned on the bedside light. "Actually, I was thinking of coming in."

_"There's nothing you can do for him right now, Pete. You'd just be making a very long night for yourself."_

"I know, but I want to be there in case he…" He stopped, afraid his voice would break if he said more.

The doctor understood him just the same. _"Do you remember where my office is?"_

"Yes."

_"I want you to wait in there. It's private and quiet, and there's a couch you can use if you get tired. I'll let the front desk know you're coming and they'll let you in, okay?"_

"Thank you, Ferris. I really, really appreciate this," he said sincerely.

_"You're welcome. Listen, I need to get going – Franklin's expecting me. Are you going to be okay driving in?"_

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

_"All right. Take it slow, and try to stay positive. We're not letting Mac go without a fight, and he's going to need all the support he can get to pull through this. Can you do that?"_

"I can try."

_"Good. I'll come by and update you just as soon as I can. Drive carefully."_

"I will. Thanks again, and good luck." The connection terminated, but Pete sat with the phone to his ear for nearly a minute before hanging up. He was in shock, trying to come to terms with the notion that his best friend may not survive the night. It was a sickening thought, and one he wasn't certainly wasn't prepared to deal with.

He felt the need to cast blame, to fault the doctors for missing the warning signs that something was wrong. It was Dr. Griffin's oversight and Dr. Aspen's overconfidence that had led to MacGyver's downfall. He was quite certain that if Ferris and Franklin had remained in charge of Mac's care, none of this would have happened. But even with all the responsibility placed on other people, Pete found he felt no better for it. What had been done had been done, and what had happened may have still have happened even if things were handled differently. Placing blame wouldn't make Mac better, and it certainly didn't help his own stress levels any.

Once again, the diminutive Dr. Harper was right. _"Stay positive…he's going to need all the support he can get…"_

_Then that's just what I'll have to do… _Wide awake despite the hollow hour, Pete slid out of bed and began getting dressed, anxious to help give his friend the fighting chance he deserved.

Ferris smothered a yawn in the crook of her arm as she made her way through the ICU. She'd been awake for nearly 24 hours and the lack of sleep was finally starting to catch up with her. It had been a very long night.

Despite their concerns, MacGyver's surgery went without complication. It took just over an hour for Franklin to open, drain, and thoroughly flush the infected area with a strong antiseptic solution. Mac remained stable the entire time, his temperature even dropping a few degrees in response to the anesthetic. It was only when he began waking up in recovery that his distress returned, his body fighting to regulate itself as his fever rapidly rose. The decision was made to keep him sedated and on a ventilator to prevent his exhausted systems from stressing even more.

_Hopefully Pete's doing better…_

The older man had been clearly shaken when she brought him down to see MacGyver. She had tried to prepare him, but there were no words that could fully equip a person to see a friend or loved one in critical condition. At first Pete had been stunned, speechless, and afraid to even touch his unconscious friend. After a little coaxing, he finally sat down and took Mac's hand tentatively into his own. She'd stayed close until the director seemed more at ease, and then excused herself for a much-needed break.

_An hour or so off for every 24 worked…and I thought I'd given those shifts up after college…_

Ferris paused at the nurses' station to check MacGyver's file. She'd only been gone for an hour, but in the ICU, patients sometimes went from stable to critical in half a heartbeat.

"Ferris."

She turned to find Dr. Miller coming from Mac's room. "Hey, Grace. How is he?"

"Not much has changed, I'm afraid," Miller replied quietly, removing her mask. "His temperature's dropped half a degree since we put the ice back on him, but it's still much too high. I've started him on his next dose of Vancomycin, per Franklin's orders – he's about half way through."

"That's good. The sooner we get it into him, the better chance it'll have to work. How's Pete holding up?"

"He's asleep, actually. The poor man is going to have a terribly stiff neck, but I didn't have the heart to wake him."

"I think it's been a long night for everyone." She glanced at her watch – it was almost seven. "Are you heading out?"

"Soon. There are a few things I need to take care of before I hand the reins over to the morning crew." She took in the petite woman's haggard appearance. "I certainly hope you're following suit?"

"Yeah. I'm leaving soon too – I just wanted to check on Mac one more time." Ferris reached for the doorknob and stopped. "Thanks for your help last night, by the way."

"My pleasure," she said and nodded toward the door. "Now go see what you need to see and get out of here – doctor's orders! You look like you're about to keel over."

Ferris grinned. "Yes, ma'am." She gave her colleague a wave and stepped inside. The small room was quiet, broken only by the slow rhythm of the heart monitor and hiss-click of the ventilator. She found Pete still seated next to Mac, his head canted awkwardly to one side as he dozed.

The doctor went to the sink and washed her hands, the paper towel dispenser clunking noisily as she withdrew several from the opening.

"Huh? Wha…ow…" Pete's startled question dissolved into a groan as he discovered his stiff neck.

"Sorry, Pete," Ferris said, cringing sympathetically as he massaged his aching muscles. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. I was just resting my eyes," he muttered, looking around the room to get his bearings. His gaze settled on MacGyver and his confused expression instantly saddened. "Nothing's changed."

"I don't expect we'll see anything for some time yet," she replied, pulling on gloves and mask as she went to her patient's side.

Looking down at MacGyver, she could easily understand how difficult the circumstances must be for the older man. Bruised and swollen from the surgery, he barely resembled the handsome troubleshooter she'd met a week before. Heavy white bandages encircled his head, and a clear tube passed through his colorless lips to relieve his labored breathing. She glanced at the monitors set up around the bed. It would have been easy to blame the insufficient numbers on the medication, but there was no sense in denying the reality. He was a very sick young man, and for the moment, the scales clearly weren't tipped in his favor.

She began to unwind his bandages, careful of the electroencephalogram electrodes dotting his forehead. "How are you doing?"

The director heaved a shaky sigh. "Okay, I guess. Better than when I first got here, at least."

"That's good."

He nodded absently and watched silently as she examined the newly opened incision on his friend's temple. The fresh wound was difficult to look at, the skin around the bone staples still raw and red.

"It's definitely draining, but it actually looks pretty good – much better than it did anyway." Ferris changed out the soiled gauze padding and rewrapped the outer bandage. "I know he looks bad, but he is doing as well as can be expected."

"Franklin said the same thing when he came by earlier," Pete replied. The surgeon had stopped by to check on his patient and was nice enough to take the time to explain to him what he'd done. Although most of it was over his head, he was grateful just the same. "He said the next 24 to 48 hours would be the most important."

"That's right, they will. It's when we'll learn if the antibiotics are going to work or not."

"Do you think it will?"

The doctor hesitated. Outcomes were often hard to predict, especially when they involved the brain. The addition of a rare, potentially deadly infection certainly didn't make things any easier.

"It's hard to say," she said at last. "His EEG is strong, but the prolonged fever and infection have left him physically drained. There's still a chance he may not have enough strength to make it through the healing process. Unfortunately we can only wait, watch, and hope."

Pete nodded absently, his expression a mixture of weariness, worry, and sorrow. "I guess it is, isn't it?"

"I wish I could tell you he was going to be fine, but I can't. And I'm not going to give you false hope."

"I appreciate that," Pete uttered, his gaze never leaving MacGyver.

Satisfied with her patient's condition, Ferris made the decision to call it a day. "I'm going to be heading out in a few minutes," she said. "And I was hoping I could convince you to do the same."

"I'd rather stay here with Mac."

"I know, but right now he needs to rest."

"He might need me," the older man replied, still unconvinced.

"He's sedated, Pete. He doesn't even know you're here."

"And what if something happens?"

"Then you'll be notified just like me," she pushed. "You don't want to set yourself up to get sick, Pete. They won't let you anywhere near the ward if you do. Take care of yourself now so you can be around when and if he begins to recover."

_When and if…_ he thought, the words making him cringe. "Can I come back?"

"Of course – just give it awhile. I'm going to talk to Dr. Aspen about lengthening your visits, but I don't expect he'll give you much more. To the critically ill, undisturbed rest can be just as important as the medication they receive."

Pete sighed, torn between leaving and staying. He understood what Ferris was saying, but the unknowns surrounding Mac's condition made him reluctant to leave.

"It's okay to be worried," she said, seeing his uncertainty. "But he needs time to heal."

The director nodded and slowly got to his feet. He placed a hand on MacGyver's shoulder, discouraged by the heat he felt despite the efforts being made to cool him down. "I need to leave for a little while, kid. I'll be back later though, I promise. Just get some rest, and don't give any of the nurses a hard time, all right?" When there was no response from his sleeping friend, Pete squeezed his arm and turned to leave.

"You going to be okay?" Ferris asked, pulling the paper mask away from her face as they left the room.

"I think so," he replied, his voice lacking conviction. "I'm just going to go home and get a few hours of sleep, then probably head into work for a while. See how they're surviving without me."

"Good. Keep yourself busy. That should make things a little easier." She offered him an empathic smile. "Come on. Why don't we go get changed out of these stylish scrubs and meet up by the elevators? You can walk me to my car." Without giving him a chance to answer, the petite doctor turned and disappeared down the hall.

Bewildered, Pete couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. It quickly faded, however, when he looked back at MacGyver's closed door. Sighing deeply, he turned away and walked slowly toward the dressing rooms, hoping for luck and praying for a miracle.


	14. Chapter 14

MacGyver was in limbo. Neither asleep nor awake, he merely existed in a murky, barren world. Lifeless and gray, the fog-shrouded landscape was featureless as far as the eye could see. The air was oppressive, the intense heat making it difficult to breathe. Sweat rolled down his face in rivulets and soaked his clothes. Needing to escape the stifling heat Mac tried to stand, but his limbs were too heavy and his muscles too weak. He was trapped.

Exhausted, Mac collapsed onto his back, dust from the parched ground billowing up around him. He gazed up at the milky sky, watching as the dense fog swirled overhead. It would have been a mesmerizing sight if not for the extreme temperature. He pulled a ragged breath into aching lungs and shut his eyes, his resolve slowly fading away.

_This must be Hell…_he thought, although the scenery was nothing like pop culture would have him believe. There were no fiery pits, red men with forked tongues, or boiling rivers of lava, just vast planes of emptiness and noxious, sultry heat. He had no recollection of his arrival, his last memories being of playing chess with Pete in the park.

_No, not the park…it was a garden…a garden surrounded by walls…a building…a hospital. I was sick…_ Mac opened his eyes and stared into the nothingness. _I was having headaches…I needed surgery…but they said it went well…maybe it didn't. Maybe I…_

An overwhelming surge of heat flashed through his body. _I've gotta get outta here…_

Gritting his teeth in effort, MacGyver rolled over onto his hands and knees. Panting for sufficient oxygen in the dense atmosphere, he wiped the sweat from his eyes and searched the horizon.

_Water…_he thought, his throat feeling raw and swollen from excessive thirst. _I need water…_

As if by magic, the telltale rippling shine of water appeared off in the distance. At first Mac thought he was delusional, his overheated mind creating images of the one thing that would bring him relief. But then he smelt it; the cool, clean, refreshing scent that could only be described as water. Gathering all of his strength, he began to half crawl, half pull his way across the desolate, dust-choked earth.

MacGyver toiled on for what seemed like days. No matter how far he progressed, the water never grew any closer. His hands and knees were bruised and bloodied from the rough ground, but he felt little pain. His mind and body were numb, his focus set on reaching the shimmering pool ahead. Although the air remained unbelievably hot, he no longer perspired; his weakened body plagued with violent shivers as if he were chilled.

His strength failing, the troubleshooter came to a stop and scanned the horizon.

_No…that's impossible…_ he thought, finding himself to be no closer to the water's edge then when he first started. Balancing on trembling arms, he watched in disbelief as the pool continued to grow further away, the land itself seeming to move. Between the heaviness in his limbs and the unbearable heat, there was no way he could keep up. Defeated, MacGyver unlocked his braced elbows and crumpled to the ground. _I'm finished…I tried to make it, but I can't…I just can't…_

Lying face down in the dirt, Mac shut his eyes, no longer wanting to see the depressing world around him. He'd never considered himself a quitter. Throughout his life, he'd conquered many perilous situations with confidence and flair. Even with all the risk-taking and slapdash decisions he'd made, he'd never met his match – at least until now. Where ever or whatever this place was, it was clear he wasn't meant to leave. The preverbal end had come, and there was nothing he could do but accept it.

Despite the overwhelming heat, MacGyver curled himself into a protective ball. Whatever force had been shielding him from feeling pain was starting to fade, a deep ache settling first into his muscles and then his bones. His head throbbed and his chest burned, his laboring heart and lungs starting to show their fatigue. Realizing there was no use in fighting, Mac did the only thing he could – gave up.

//…_He's starting to shut down…//_

_//…I know…//_

_//…I thought…I really believed we had this beat…//_

_//I know…I did too…//_

Two familiar voices rumbled like thunder across the barren plane. Certain it was another cruel trick, MacGyver never moved.

_//…If I had just come in myself that morning…none of this would have even happened…//_

_//…You don't know that for sure, Ferris. You can't blame yourself…//_

_Ferris…? _He thought, the name catching his attention.

_//…I should have monitored him more closely…I'm sorry, Pete…//_

_Pete…! _Mac's eyes shot open at the mention of his friend's name.

_//...It's not your fault…you've done everything you can…I just wish…//_

The troubleshooter waited for Pete to continue, but he never did. He called out, wanting to let him know he was there, but his own voice wouldn't work. His throat was full of dust and sand, causing him to literally choke on his words. By the time he regained some semblance of control, the booming voices were gone, and he was alone once again in the strange world. MacGyver's heart sank. What little hope he'd gained from hearing Ferris and Pete vanished as quickly as it had come. His instincts were right – it _had been _a trick, just like the water.

Mac grimaced as his heart gave a fluttering skip. As exhaustion overwhelmed his senses, he said a silent goodbye to his friends and shut his eyes for what he believed to be the final time.

_//…MacGyver…?//_

Pete's voice rolled across the fog obscured sky. As real as it seemed, Mac ignored his boss's call, not willing to be deceived again.

_//…MacGyver…I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I want you to know something… you…you've been like a son to me. Michael and I never really bonded when he was young. I suppose it was mostly my fault for not being there for him, but our differences always seemed to cause a fight. We just never could agree on anything… //_

_What…?_ Mac couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd known Pete's relationship with his son was rocky, but he never realized how much it bothered him. Still unsure as to who or what he was hearing, he focused his declining energy on listening to the god-like voice.

//_…You and I though, we hit it off practically the moment we met. We may not see eye to eye on everything, but we don't let our differences stand in the way of our friendship. We share interests and watch out for each other…sometimes I even think you know more about me than I know about myself. While I wish it could have had that kind of a relationship with my son, I'm grateful to have shared one with you…//_

The voice paused and there was a brief gust of wind, almost like the fog itself was sighing.

_//…You've got to keep fighting, Mac. I know you're getting tired, but you just have to stick with it a little while longer. Your infection's weakening – the antibiotics are starting to work. It may not seem like it yet, but Ferris says your blood work is showing signs of improvement. Aspen keeps telling me not to get my hopes up. He doesn't believe you have enough strength left, but I do. I know you're not a quitter. I've seen you do some amazing things even after everyone else has given up. Please, Mac, don't let this beat you. Not now. Not when you're so close…//_

The sensation of his hand being squeezed caused MacGyver to jerk. He opened his eyes, half expecting to see a ghostly hand wrapped around his own, but nothing was there. Although he found the otherworldly contact to be disturbing, he didn't try to pull away. For as strange as the feeling was, it was also vaguely familiar.

He felt the pressure across his fingers became stronger and more real. His weakness slowly faded, replaced by revitalizing wisps of energy.

_Okay…this is a little weird…_he thought, slowly getting to his hands and knees. His arms shook with fatigue and his aching head swarmed, but he managed to stay up.

_//…There's nothing more you can do for him…?//_

_//…I'm afraid not… up to him now…//_

Mac felt the invisible hand increase its grip even more.

'_Stick with it…not a quitter…up to him…'_ His friends' words echoed in his head. He looked up and gazed into the distance, catching sight of the elusive pool glinting on the horizon. It was so far away. His strength may have been mysteriously returning, but he still felt miserable. He recalled on of the voices mentioning an infection. _That would certainly explain a few things…_

He rocked back on his heels and cleaned the dirt from his face with his sleeve. Trying to reach the water again was tempting, but the awful heat and his struggling body held him back. Just moments before he had been ready to die, eager to end his pain and leave this hellish world behind. Hearing Pete's heartfelt plea, however, made him realize surrendering now after he'd been given a second chance would be taking the easy way out. And that was something he just didn't do.

MacGyver looked back toward the pool, trying to gauge its distance. The angle was deceptive, but it had to be at least several miles. Based on the amount of time it had taken him to come this far and his rapidly deteriorating condition, he knew the odds weren't in his favor. _But as long as I'm still breathing…_ he thought, returning to his hands and knees. Mac drew in a wheezy lungful of air as he mentally prepared himself for the journey ahead. This time he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Locking his gaze firmly on the horizon, Mac set out in the direction of the pool. He had scarcely gone ten feet when he pulled back in surprise, his hand meeting cold water instead of sand.

_What the…? _The pool literally had appeared at his fingertips. Puzzled, but taking no chances, Mac plunged head first into the water. He swam fast and deep, relishing the icy chill of the water against his overheated skin. When he had gone down as far as his tired body would take him, he stopped and looked back toward the surface. Shining down through the rippling distortion of the waves, he saw what appeared to be the sun shimmering overhead.

_The sun? There wasn't one before…_ Curious, MacGyver swam toward the mottled light. As he neared the surface, he began to hear the echoing voices of his friends, their garbled words becoming clearer as he went.

_//…Something's happening…//_

_//…I know…I see it too…//_

_//…What is it…?//_

_//…I don't know yet…//_

_//…Is it something good…?//_

_//…I don't know…//_

Mac broke the surface and was instantly blinded by the brilliant light. A startled cry rose and caught in his throat, causing him to choke and panic. Flailing violently in the water, he struggled to stay afloat, fighting to pull enough air into his lungs. Invisible hands roughly grabbed and held his body, threatening to push him below the surface of the pool.

_//…MacGy…!//_

_//Hold…down!//_

_//What's…?//_

_// Pete…back..//_

_//Is he…right?//_

_//…pillow. I'm…//_

_//… too soon…//_

_//…no choice…he's…//_

MacGyver abruptly found himself on dry land. With the last of his deteriorating strength, he tried fiercely to resist as hands held his limbs and head, but it was no use. His mouth was forced open and something hard shifted against his throat. He coughed and choked, struggling to regain control over his spastic breathing.

_//…mask…5 mg…//_

Drowsiness doused his panic a moment later. He tried to fight it, but the pull was too strong. Exhausted, he offered no resistance when something was gently fitted over his mouth and nose, a welcoming rush of cool air soothing his sore, burning lungs. As he relaxed further, the upsetting images of the barren world slowly faded away. The fog-streaked sky morphed into a gray ceiling, and four solid walls fell into place. He was lying on a cushioned surface beneath a bright light, surrounded by blurry shapes that resembled people.

"MacGyver?"

A ghostly face appeared in front of his own, their eyes the only feature visible above a shroud of white.

"Can you hear me?"

The female voice was familiar, and he racked his clouded brain for her name. "Fe…Fer…" he tried to say, the words catching painfully against his raw throat.

The blurry doctor placed a hand on his arm. "Shh, I don't want you to talk. You've been on a ventilator for the last 72 hours, so you're throat's going to be sore. You've been very sick with a severe infection. You developed an abscess at your surgical site that we had to drain. It's been touch and go ever since, but your fever just broke and that's a good sign."

"Hey, kiddo."

Mac shifted his gaze toward the blurry figure beside Ferris. Even though he could only see the person's eyes, he knew immediately who it was. "Pete."

"You gave me one hell of scare. I thought for sure I was going to lose you."

_You have no idea how close it came…_ Mac slid his hand from beneath the cooling blanket and weakly reached up for his friend. "Thanks."

"For what?" Pete asked, giving his colleague's fingers a familiar squeeze.

"Showing me…the way back," he uttered hoarsely.

"That was all you, Mac. You came through when others said it was impossible. Just like I knew you could."

"You brought me the water."

"I did what?"

"I felt your hand…you brought me…" He wanted to say more, but his mouth seemed to have disconnected from his brain and his eyes refused to stay open.

"What's he talking about?" Pete asked, his voice sounding further and further away.

"I don't know. Some confusion is expected – he's been through a lot these past few days," Ferris replied.

"No, it was…real…"

"Shh," Ferris shushed, resting a hand against his forehead. "I want you to rest now, sweetie. You still have a long road ahead of you, but we're here to help."

"The worst is over with, Mac. You're going to be all right."

Comforted by Pete's reassurance, MacGyver finally surrendered to the pull of exhaustion. Embracing the darkness, he slipped past the threshold of dreams and fell into a deep, healing sleep.

Almost a week after nearly succumbing to his infection, MacGyver was back in room 604 on the oncology floor. He had left the ICU the day before after being cleared by Franklin and Dr. Aspen. Both physicians were pleased with his progress, Aspen even admitting he was quite surprised by his improvement. As far as they both could tell, he had suffered no lasting damage from his ordeal, and they expected him to make a full recovery over time.

_Time is a given, but what about patience? _Mac thought, dropping wearily onto the bed. He was tired, worn out from his first session of physical therapy. Ferris had signed him up when he began to ask about going home, choosing a therapist who specialized in reconditioning after an illness. His appointment went well, but his weakened body had left him feeling discouraged.

Normally a ten-minute ride on a stationary bike wouldn't be a big deal. Today however, it had nearly done him in. He'd wanted to rest and do some more, but his therapist wouldn't let him. She said he'd had enough, and reiterated the same "too much, too soon" warning Ferris had given him earlier.

MacGyver sighed and shifted on the mattress. Except for a single IV he was medical paraphernalia free, but he still found it hard to get comfortable. He longed to be home in his own bed with the nightmare of the past few weeks behind him. He wanted to get back to work, his friends, and his life. _I just want to get back to normal…_

He looked up at the small TV suspended across the room. There was a ballgame on, but he had little interest in the teams playing. He grabbed the remote and turned it off, deciding to take a short nap instead. Stretching out on top of the blankets, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight that streamed in through the window.

He had only been asleep for a short while when he was roused by a quiet tapping at his door. Pete poked his head in a moment later, his expression turning guilty when he saw him lying down.

"I woke you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but it's okay," Mac replied, sitting up. "I was just resting my eyes."

"Are you sure?" he asked, hanging in the doorway. "Because I can come back. I was just on lunch and I thought you might like…"

MacGyver pointed at the chair beside his bed. "Sit."

Looking a bit like a scolded child, the director did as he was told and sat down. "You look tired."

"PT."

"Yeah? How'd it go?"

Mac shrugged. "All right. The therapist said that if I stick with her program and behave myself, I might be out of here as early as next week."

"That's great. Just let me know and I'll take the day off to help get you settled," the older man offered, unable to get past how tired his friend looked. "Are you sure you don't want me to come back later?"

"It's all right, really," Mac insisted. He could tell Pete was anxious just by the way his hands clutched at his briefcase. "And you don't have to walk on eggshells, either. I'm doing okay now."

"I know you are. I just have some images in my head that are going to take some time to go away." Pete sighed. "You were really sick, Mac. The way things looked after your second surgery, I spent the entire night trying to think of the best way to say goodbye."

MacGyver looked down at his hands. "It was hard for me too. I wanted to give up, and I almost did. But you wouldn't let me."

"That's right, I wouldn't. You're a fighter, Mac. When things get tough, you get tougher. It's one of the things I respect about you and that makes you such a unique person." He saw his friend's face color slightly at the praise and smiled. "And I'm not the only one who sees it." He reached into is briefcase and pulled out a stack of colorful paper.

"What are they?"

"Cards, pictures, stories. They're from the kids at the Hillenburg School. I found them on my desk this morning with a note from Lori. I had spoken with her about a week ago to let her know the budget approval went through. She was appalled to hear how sick you were, and the kids wanted to help cheer you up."

MacGyver grinned as he flipped through the vibrant drawings. Most were just random scribbles that vaguely resembled flowers or animals, but some were actually quite good. He paused when he came to a glossy photograph that showed the entire class seated by the pond. A wrought iron fence had been installed around its perimeter, giving the waterscape a distinguished look.

"Lori said the pond is doing great and hopes you'll come visit as soon as you're able," Pete said. "The kids miss you and she said something about wanting to build a wheelchair accessible tree house."

Mac nodded absently, still looking fondly at the picture. "Yeah, she said something about that a few months ago. I guess she saw one in a catalog and thought it would be neat to build one for the kids. I'm sure one of the architects at the Foundation can help design one."

There was a rap at the door and Ferris entered, a cloth-covered tray balanced on one hand. "Hey, Pete. I didn't expect to see you until later."

"I left Helen in charge and snuck out for lunch. Doing paperwork all morning doesn't lend itself to much excitement."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. She turned to her patient and smiled warmly. "So. How was PT?"

"It went okay. I didn't do much, really. I couldn't."

"And now you're frustrated."

"A little, yeah."

"You don't need to be. We almost lost you, Mac. Your body needs to recover and that takes time. I know you're anxious to leave and I can't blame you, but taking the time you need to heal now will make things _much_ easier down the road."

"She's right, Mac," Pete concurred. "You don't want to jump into things too soon and risk getting sick again."

"And it does happen, believe me. If you got sick now – even something as simple as a cold – you could undo everything and wind up back in critical care. Or worse."

MacGyver cringed at the thought.

"But you don't have to worry about that because you're going to do what you're told and take it easy, right?" Ferris asked, looking at him expectantly.

"I'll try."

"Good," she said, clasping her hands together. "Now, how would you feel about me taking those staples out of your head?"

"_Please_," Mac replied, the nagging itch from the small medical staples slowly driving him crazy.

She chuckled and went to wash her hands. "I thought so. Lay down and we'll get them out."

"Do you want me to leave?" Pete asked, gathering up the cards so his friend could stretch out.

"You can stay," he said, settling back on the mattress. "I'm sure Helen appreciates the break."

"Hey, you'd better watch it or I'll bring some paperwork in for you to do."

"It might do him some good," Ferris said, pulling on a clean pair of gloves. "It would help keep his brain stimulated and speed up the healing process." She began to unwind the protective bandage around her patient's head.

"Don't give him any ideas," Mac muttered, missing the wink she gave Pete.

The petite doctor grinned. "Oh yeah, this looks _much_ better than it did," she uttered, finding the incision to be pink, healthy, and healing. She thoroughly cleaned the area before selecting what looked like pliers from her tray.

"You're not going to numb the area first?" Pete asked, a little disturbed at his own morbid curiosity.

"There's no need. They may sting a little, but he should only feel a slight tugging. They're no different than stitches, really. They're just made of metal instead of string." Ferris explained. "You ready?"

"Yep." He felt her take the first staple with the pliers and give a gentle tug. There was no pain, just a sensation similar to a deep splinter being pulled from the skin. It hurt so little in fact, that he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

After repeating the process for the remaining staples, Ferris cleaned the area again before covering it with a sterile bandage. "There," she said, clearly pleased with his progress. "We'll keep it covered for a few more days and then we can start leaving it exposed to the air."

"Great," Mac said, cracking open an eye. "When can I shower?"

"I was wondering when that would come up. You can take one this afternoon if you're feeling up to it. You'll need to wear a shower cap to keep your head dry, but otherwise you should be fine."

"Nice."

"Just let one of the nurses know when you're ready so there can be someone close by in case you need help. I suggest you take a long nap before you attempt showering. I know it sounds crazy, but the more energy you have going in, the less exhausted you'll be coming out. You're not used to being on your feet for more then a few minutes at a time, and the hot water is just going to tire you out even faster."

"He was asleep when I came in earlier, but he's just too damn polite to tell me to go away," Pete said, giving Mac a playful cuff on the arm as he stood to leave. "So I suggest you do as the good doctor says and get some rest. I'll swing by on my way home this evening, and I might even bring you something from the corner market."

He raised an eyebrow in interest. "Sounds good."

His two friends said their goodbyes and left, plunging the small room into relative silence. Mac sighed and looked up at the ceiling, focusing on a pressure crack that resembled a leaf. He still wasn't thrilled about his continued stay at the hospital, but he was willing to accept it was the best thing to do. He would be permitted to leave soon enough – and taking unnecessary risks was something he'd learned to avoid.

MacGyver rolled over to face the window and allowed his eyes to shut against the early afternoon sun. Within minutes he was asleep, dreaming of a picturesque spring day, rolling green meadows, and a mysterious gray horse grazing peacefully beneath the shade of an ancient, bushy tree.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Well, this is it, folks -- the final chapter of 'Head Shy.' I'd like to thank those who stuck with me through this little adventure, and a huge thanks to those who have left feedback. It really is a form of payment for hobby writers, and from the comments I've gotten about this story, I feel like I've been well 'paid.' It was an interesting story to write, and I'm glad people enjoyed reading it. Thanks again for your time and kind words. Take care ~ Bull Demon (aka Bandersnatch)

******* Several Weeks Later *********

Pete pulled his car into the private lot and parked next to MacGyver's Jeep. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment, taking in the rich wash of colors as the sun slowly set over the Pacific Ocean. Collecting several paper bags from the back seat, he headed toward the beach house perched atop a bed of golden sand. Breathing in the fresh, salty air, he could see why Mac had agreed to come here on his vacation. On this private stretch of ocean bliss, the potent healing powers of the sun, sand, and surf belonged solely to him.

The director stepped up to the door and rang the bell. He hadn't seen his friend in over a week, having left him alone to recover from the staph infection that had nearly taken his life. While Mac enjoyed the company of his friends, he knew the younger man treasured solitude. He'd jumped at the opportunity when Ferris offered him the use of her family's private vacation house, completely enveloping the small doctor in a hug of gratitude.

When there was no reply, Pete tried the knob, the door swinging silently open and allowing him inside.

"Mac?" He called, setting the bags on the counter and looking around. The house was small and homey, the sparse furnishing giving it a rustic feel. Except for a few articles of clothing, food items, and dirty dishes, the place hardly looked used. As he wandered through the open floor plan, he spotted a red binder with "PHOENIX FOUNDATION: CONFIDENTIAL" printed across the front cover. It was the information Willis had given him to read about the anti-hacker program and the pending contract with Compu-Saf.

When he reached the back of the house, he paused a moment to admire the panoramic view of the ocean through the double glass doors. Squinting against the brilliant light, he could just make out a lone figure standing waist deep in the water, their face turned up to the sky. Pete let himself out onto the deck. Silently, he sat in one of the lounge chairs and settled back to enjoy the day's end.

The sun had dipped completely below the horizon and the first stars began to appear before the person in the water turned and headed back toward the shore. About half way up, they extended their arm and gave an exaggerated wave.

"Hey, stranger!" Pete called, standing to return the gesture. He hardly recognized his friend as he made his way up the beach, his pale, skin-and-bone appearance having been replaced with a healthy tan and well-toned muscles. His sandy blonde hair was almost back to its normal length, and his strong presence had returned.

"Hey, Pete. You been here long?" MacGyver asked, taking the porch steps two at a time.

"About fifteen minutes."

"You should have said something."

"And miss a sunset like that? You sure know how to pick the hot spots, don't you?"

Mac grinned. "I told you, you could come out any time."

"Oh, I know. I'm just giving you a hard time," Pete replied, glad to see his friend genuinely smiling again. "So, how are you doing? You look like a new man."

"I feel like one," Mac replied, plucking the loudest Hawaiian shirt Pete had ever seen from the banister and slipping it on. "I should have done something like this months ago. I know I say I prefer the woods, but this is definitely a close second."

"What have you been up to?"

The troubleshooter shrugged and dropped down in one of the loungers. "A little of everything and a lot of nothing. I fixed the shower inside, straightened and painted the fence, replaced a few rotten boards on the deck – which I hope to get stained tomorrow – realigned the satellite dish…"

"Did Ferris put you up to all this?"

"Nope. She'd mentioned wanting to get the place fixed up, so I thought I'd surprise her by getting a jump on it. Plus she wouldn't take the money I offered for rent. It's just my way of saying thanks."

Pete shook his head. "You're too good, MacGyver."

"It's the least I could do," he said. "Besides, I've had about all the idle time I can handle for a while."

"Do you know when you're coming back to work?"

"Soon, I hope. I have a follow up appointment with Dr. Cobb next Tuesday to see how things are going. He should clear me for light duty by then, and in a few weeks I hope to be back out in the field."

"Has your head been bothering you at all?"

"Off and on. Ferris said it would – everything just needs time to finish healing. At least the bad ones aren't as frequent as they were before. It'll get better with time."

"That's _definitely_ a good thing," Pete agreed wholeheartedly.

A collective silence fell between the two men, both content just to sit and watch the gentle ebb and flow of the water. Stars shimmered and winked as the twilight slowly descended, the cool night air settling over the private stretch of beach.

"I don't think I've really thanked you for helping me through everything," Mac said quietly.

"You don't have to. I'm just glad I was able to be there for you at all," Pete replied. "They locked things down pretty tight when they found out you had staph."

"If you hadn't been there that day, I would have given up. I _did _give up. I couldn't take it anymore. I just…" MacGyver sighed and looked out to sea. His memories of the hellish world he had visited subconsciously were fading, but the sensations he'd experienced were still very real. "And then I heard your voice and felt you take my hand. You told me not to give in and that I had to keep fighting. Almost everyone else had given up, but you never did. You gave me the strength to keep fighting and showed me the way back to the preverbal light."

Pete opened his mouth to reply, but he found himself to be at a loss for words. It wasn't everyday someone credited you with saving their life, especially when they had already given up on it themselves.

"Our friendship means a lot to me. You're a very unique person, MacGyver, and I don't just mean your talent for saving the day with the contents of your pocket. The way you look at life and the people around you is very different from anyone else I've ever known. You don't pass judgment or let what a person has done in the past affect how you treat them now. You try to find the best in everything and everyone – that's something I've never been able to do, but always wished I could."

He paused and looked at his friend. The younger man seemed to be mesmerized by one of the pineapple shaped buttons on his shirt, but Pete knew he was listening.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful you've been a part of my life, and that I was able to help convince you to stick around a little longer."

There was a pause as Mac continued to study the button pinched between his long fingers. Finally he looked up, a lopsided grin on his face. "It'll be _a lot _longer if I have anything to do with it."

Pete chuckled. "I like that idea even better," he replied, getting to his feet. "So, have you eaten yet?"

"Nope. You?" he asked, continuing when his boss shook his head. "You want to stay? I've got plenty of veggie and bean burgers in the freezer." He pushed up from the lounger. "Just let me get dried off and I can throw a few on the grill."

_Veggie and bean burgers?_ Pete thought, the idea alone making his taste buds curl. "Actually, I took the liberty of picking something up on the way over. Ferris was saying how good the small Asian restaurant a few miles from here was, so I thought we should give it a try. How does steamed vegetables and bean curd sound?"

"Real good. Although that doesn't sound like your normal fare."

"It's not. _I_ got the mandarin chicken."

"_Ah_!"

"But I have to say – yours does smell pretty good," the older man confessed.

"You should try some – you might like it."

"Maybe I will."

"And if you like that," Mac began, heading for the house. "Then you'll love what I've got for dessert."

"Dessert?"

"Yeah. It's a new recipe I've been wanting to try and I made more than enough for two."

"Oh?" Pete asked, his curiosity peaked. "What is it?"

"Chocolate tofu pudding. It should be ready by the time we're done," he replied, disappearing into the house.

"Tofu pudding? That um…that sounds disgust…"

The troubleshooter appeared in the doorway. "What?"

"Interesting!" Pete backpedaled. "That sounds interesting!"

"Good. And when we're done, I can show you the satellite booster I made out of aluminum foil and paperclips. The signal comes in great now," MacGyver said, ducking back inside.

_Tofu pudding…aluminum foil satellite boosters…_ Chuckling to himself, Pete turned and headed into the house to help his friend. _Oh yeah. Mac is __definitely_ _back…_

END


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